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Mr.  C^R  TERR  T 


By  DAVID  GRAY 


ILLUSTRATED    BY 

PAUL  BROWN 


NEW    YORK. 

THE   DERRYDALE   PRESS 
1929 


^!y3A^^^^^y3A:::^^!y3A^^ 


Copyright,  1899,  1907,  1908,  1909,  1910, 
by  The  Century  Co. 

Copyright,  1904,  1905,  by  The  Metropolitan 
Magazine  Company 


Copyright,  1929,  by  The 
Derrydale  Press 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Mr.  Carteret  and  His  Fellow  Americans  Abroad       i 

How  Mr.  Carteret  Proposed 27 

Mr.  Carteret's  Adventure  with  a  Locket  .     .     .     6$ 

The  Case  of  the  Evanstons 93 

The  Matter  OF  A  Mashie 119 

The  Medal  of  Honor  Story 139 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"The  White  Chief  Can  Eat  the  Fox"    facing  page  2  i 

There  Were  Sounds  of  Hoof-Beats  and 

Indications  of  Battle       ....     facing  page  57 

His  Eye  Caught  Something  Dark 

Upon  the  Grass facing  page  73 


MR.    CARTERET  AND   HIS   FELLOW 
AMERICANS    ABROAD 


I 


MR.   CARTERET  AND   HIS   FELLOW 
AMERICANS    ABROAD 


({ 


I 


T  MUST  have  been  highly  interesting,"  observed 
Mrs.  Archie  Brawlej  "so  much  pleasanter  than 
a  concert." 
"Rather!"  replied  Lord  Frederic.  "It  was  ripping!" 

Mrs.  Ascott-Smith  turned  to  Mr.  Carteret.  She  had 
been  listening  to  Lord  Frederic  Westcote,  who  had 
just  come  down  from  town  where  he  had  seen  the 
Wild  West  show.  "Is  it  so.?"  she  asked.  "Have  you 
ever  seen  them?"  By  "them"  she  meant  the  Indians. 

Mr.  Carteret  nodded. 

"It  seems  so  odd,"  continued  Mrs.  Archie  Brawle, 
"that  they  should  ride  without  saddles.  Is  it  a  pose.?" 

"No,  I  fancy  not,"  replied  Lord  Frederic. 

"They  must  get  very  tired  without  stirrups,"  in- 
sisted Mrs.  Archie.  "But  perhaps  they  never  ride  very 
long  at  a  time." 

"That  is  possible,"  said  Lord  Frederic  doubtfully. 
"They  are  only  on  about  twenty  minutes  in  the 
show." 


2  MR.     CARTERET     AND    HIS 

Mr.  Pringle,  the  curate,  who  had  happened  in  to 
pay  his  monthly  call  upon  Mrs.  Ascott-Smith,  took 
advantage  of  the  pause.  "Of  course,  I  am  no  horse- 
man," he  began  apprehensively,  "and  I  have  never 
seen  the  red  Indians,  either  in  their  native  wilds  or  in 
a  show,  but  I  have  read  not  a  little  about  them,  and  I 
have  gathered  that  they  almost  live  on  horseback." 

Major  Hammerslea  reached  toward  the  tea  table 
for  another  muffin  and  hemmed.  "It  is  a  very  differ- 
ent thing,"  he  said  with  heavy  impressiveness.  "It  is 
a  very  different  thing." 

The  curate  looked  expectant,  as  if  believing  that 
his  remarks  were  going  to  be  noticed.  But  nothing  was 
farther  from  the  Major^s  mind. 

"What  is  so  very  different?"  inquired  Mrs.  Ascott- 
Smith,  after  a  pause  had  made  it  clear  that  the  Major 
had  ignored  Pringle. 

"It  is  one  thing,  my  dear  Madame,  to  ride  a  stunted, 
half-starved  pony,  as  you  say,  'bareback,'  and  another 
thing  to  ride  a  conditioned  British  hunter  (he  pro- 
nounced it  huntaw)  without  a  saddle.  I  must  say  that 
the  latter  is  an  impossibility."  The  oracle  came  to  an 
end  and  the  material  Major  began  on  the  muffin. 

There  was  an  approving  murmur  of  assent.  The 
Major  was  the  author  of  "Schooling  and  Riding 
British  Hunters";  however,  it  was  not  only  his  au- 


FELLOW  AMERICANS  ABROAD       3 

thority  which  swayed  the  company,  but  individual 
conviction.  Of  the  dozen  people  in  the  room,  excepting 
Pringle,  all  rode  to  hounds  with  more  or  less  enthusi- 
asm, and  no  one  had  ever  seen  any  one  hunting  with- 
out a  saddle  and  no  one  had  ever  experienced  any 
desire  to  try  the  experiment.  Obviously  it  was  an 
absurdity. 

"Nevertheless,"  observed  Lord  Frederic,  "I  must 
say  their  riding  was  very  creditable — quite  as  good  as 
one  sees  on  any  polo  field  in  England." 

Major  Hammerslea  looked  at  him  severely,  as  if 
his  youth  were  not  wholly  an  excuse.  "It  is,  as  I  said," 
he  observed.  "It  is  one  thing  to  ride  an  American  pony 
and  another  to  ride  a  British  hunter.  One  requires 
horsemanship,  the  other  does  not.  And  horsemanship," 
he  continued,  "which  properly  is  the  guiding  of  a 
horse  across  country,  requires  years  of  study  and  ex- 
perience." 

Lord  Frederic  looked  somewhat  unconvinced  but 
he  said  nothing. 

"Of  course  the  dear  Major  (she  called  it  deah 
Majaw)  is  quite  right,"  said  Mrs.  Ascott-Smith. 

"Undoubtedly,"  said  Mr.  Carteret.  "I  suppose  that 
he  has  often  seen  Indians  ride.f*" 

"Have  you  often  seen  these  Indians  ride?"  inquired 
Mrs.  Ascott-Smith  of  the  Major. 


4  MR.     CARTERET    AND    HIS 

"Do  you  mean  Indians  or  the  Red  Men  of  North 
America?"  replied  the  Major.  "And  do  you  mean 
ride  upon  ponies  in  a  show  or  ride  upon  British 
hunters? " 

"Which  do  you  mean?"  asked  Mrs.  Ascott-Smith. 

"I  suppose  that  I  mean  American  Indians,"  said 
Mr.  Carteret,  "and  either  upon  ponies  or  upon  British 
hunters." 

"No,"  said  the  Major,  "I  have  not.  Have  you?" 

"Not  upon  British  hunters,"  said  Mr.  Carteret. 

"But  do  you  think  that  they  could? "  inquired  Lord 
Frederic. 

"It  would  be  foolish  of  me  to  express  an  opinion," 
replied  Mr.  Carteret,  "because,  in  the  first  place,  I 
have  never  seen  them  ride  British  hunters  over 
fences — " 

"They  would  come  off  at  the  first  obstacle,"  ob- 
served the  Major,  more  in  sorrow  than  in  anger. 

"And  in  the  second  place,"  continued  Mr.  Carteret, 
"I  am  perhaps  naturally  prejudiced  in  behalf  of  my 
fellow  countrymen." 

Mrs.  Ascott-Smith  looked  at  him  anxiously.  His 
sister  had  married  a  British  peer.  "But  you  Americans 
are  quite  distinct  from  the  red  Indians,"  she  said.  "We 
quite  understand  that  nowadays.  To  be  sure,  my  dear 
Aunt — "  She  stopped. 


FELLOW    AMERICANS    ABROAD  5 

"Rather!"  said  Mrs.  Archie  Brawle.  "You  don't 
even  intermarry  with  them,  do  you?" 

"That  is  a  matter  of  personal  taste,"  said  Mr. 
Carteret.  "There  is  no  law  against  it." 

"But  nobody  that  one  knows — "  began  Mrs.  Ascott- 
Smith. 

"There  was  John  Rolfe,"  said  Mr.  Carteret;  "he 
was  a  very  well  known  chap." 

"Do  you  know  him? "  asked  Mrs.  Brawle. 

The  curate  sniggered.  His  hour  of  triumph  had 
come.  "Rolfe  is  dead,"  he  said. 

"Really!"  said  Mrs.  Brawle,  coldly.  "It  had  quite 
slipped  my  mind.  You  see  I  never  read  the  papers 
during  the  hunting.  But  is  his  wife  received?" 

"I  believe  that  she  was,"  said  Mr.  Carteret. 

The  curate  was  still  sniggering  and  Mrs.  Brawle 
put  her  glass  in  her  eye  and  looked  at  him.  Then  she 
turned  to  Mr.  Carteret.  "But  all  this,"  she  said,  "of 
course,  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  question.  Do  you 
think  that  these  red  Indians  could  ride  bareback 
across  our  country?" 

"As  I  said  before,"  replied  Mr.  Carteret,  "it  would 
be  silly  of  me  to  express  an  opinion,  but  I  should  be 
interested  in  seeing  them  try  it." 

"I  have  a  topping  idea!"  cried  Lord  Frederic.  He 
was  an  enthusiastic,  simple-minded  fellow. 


6  MR.     CARTERET     AND    HIS 

"You  must  tell  us,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Ascott-Smith. 

"Let  us  have  them  down,  and  take  them  hunting! " 

"How  exciting!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Ascott-Smith. 
"What  sport!" 

The  Major  looked  at  her  reprovingly.  "It  would 
be  as  I  said,"  he  observed. 

"But  it  would  be  rather  interesting,"  said  Mrs. 
Brawle. 

"It  might,"  said  the  Major,  "it  might  be  inter- 
esting." 

"It  would  be  ripping!"  said  Lord  Frederic.  "But 
how  can  we  manage  it?" 

"I'll  mount  them,"  said  the  Major  with  a  grim 
smile.  "My  word!  They  shall  have  the  pick  of  my 
stable  though  I  have  to  spend  a  month  rebreaking 
horses  that  have  run  away." 

"But  it  isn't  the  difficulty  of  mounting  them,"  said 
Lord  Frederic.  "You  see  I've  never  met  any  of  these 
chaps."  He  turned  to  Mr.  Carteret  with  a  sudden  in- 
spiration. "Are  any  of  them  friends  of  yours?"  he 
asked. 

Mrs.  Ascott-Smith  looked  anxiously  at  Mr.  Car- 
teret, as  if  she  feared  that  it  would  develop  that  some 
of  the  people  in  the  show  were  his  cousins. 

"No,"  he  replied,  "I  don't  think  so,  although  I  may 
have  met  some  of  them  in  crossing  the  reservations. 


FELLOW  AMERICANS  ABROAD       7 

But  I  once  went  shooting  with  Grady,  one  of  the 
managers  of  the  show." 

"Better  yet!"  said  Lord  Frederic.  ."Do  you  think 
that  he  would  come  and  bring  some  of  them  down? " 
he  asked. 

"I  think  he  would,"  said  Mr.  Carteret.  He  knew 
that  the  showman  was  strong  in  Grady — as  well  as 
the  sportsman. 

The  Major  rose  to  go  to  the  billiard  room.  "I  have 
one  piece  of  advice  to  give  you,"  he  said.  "This  prank 
is  harmless  enough,  but  establish  a  definite  under- 
standing with  this  fellow  that  you  are  not  to  be  liable 
in  damages  for  personal  injuries  which  his  Indians 
may  receive.  Explain  to  him  that  it  is  not  child's  play 
and  have  him  put  it  in  writing." 

"You  mean  to  have  him  execute  a  kind  of  release? " 
said  Mr.  Carteret. 

"Precisely  that,"  said  the  Major.  "I  was  once  sued 
for  twenty  pounds  by  a  groom  that  fell  off  my  best 
horse  and  let  him  run  away,  and  damme,  the  fellow 
recovered."  He  bowed  to  the  ladies  and  left  the  room. 

"Of  course  we  can  fix  all  that  up,"  said  Lord 
Frederic.  "The  old  chap  is  a  bit  overcautious  nowa- 
days, but  how  can  we  get  hold  of  this  fellow  Grady?" 

"Pll  wire  him  at  once,  if  you  wish,"  said  Mr.  Car- 
teret, and  he  went  to  the  writing  table.  "When  do  you 


8  MR.     CARTERET     AND    HIS 

want  him  to  come  down?"  he  asked,  as  he  began  to 
write. 

"We  might  take  them  out  with  the  Quorn  on  Satur- 
day," said  Lord  Frederic,  "but  the  meet  is  rather  far 
for  us.  Perhaps  it  would  be  better  to  have  them  on 
Thursday  with  Charley  Ploversdale's  hounds." 

Mr.  Carteret  hesitated  a  moment.  "Wouldn't 
Ploversdale  be  apt  to  be  fussy  about  experiments.? 
He's  rather  conservative,  you  know,  about  the  way 
people  are  turned  out.  I  saw  him  send  a  man  home 
one  day  who  was  out  without  a  hat.  It  was  an  Ameri- 
can who  was  afraid  that  hats  made  his  hair  come  out." 

"Pish,"  said  Lord  Frederic,  "Charley  Ploversdale 
is  mild  as  a  dove." 

"Suit  yourself,"  said  Mr.  Carteret.  "I'll  make  it 
Thursday.  One  more  question,"  he  added.  "How 
many  shall  I  ask  him  to  bring  down?"  At  this  mo- 
ment the  Major  came  into  the  room  again.  He  had 
mislaid  his  eyeglasses. 

"I  should  think  that  a  dozen  would  be  about  the 
right  number,"  said  Lord  Frederic,  replying  to  Mr. 
Carteret.  "It  would  be  very  imposing." 

"Too  many!"  said  the  Major.  "We  must  mount 
them  on  good  horses  and  I  don't  want  my  entire  stable 
ruined  by  men  who  have  never  lepped  a  fence." 

"I  think  the  Major  is  right  about  the  matter  of 


FELLOW  AMERICANS  ABROAD       9 

numbers,"  said  Mr.  Carteret.  "How  would  three  do?" 

"Make  it  three,"  said  the  Major. 

Before  dinner  was  over  a  reply  came  from  Grady 
saying  that  he  and  three  bucks  would  be  pleased  to 
arrive  Thursday  morning  prepared  for  a  hunting 
party. 

This  took  place  on  Monday,  and  at  various  times 
during  Tuesday  and  Wednesday  Mr.  Carteret  gave 
the  subject  thought.  By  Thursday  morning  his  views 
had  ripened.  He  ordered  his  tea  and  eggs  to  be  served 
in  his  room  and  came  down  a  little  past  ten  dressed 
in  knickerbockers  and  an  old  shooting  coat.  He 
wandered  into  the  dining-room  and  found  Mrs. 
Ascott-Smith  sitting  by  the  fire  entertaining  Lord 
Frederic,  as  he  went  to  and  from  the  sideboard  in 
search  of  things  to  eat. 

"Good  morning,"  said  Mr.  Carteret,  hoarsely. 

Lord  Frederic  looked  around  and  as  he  noticed  Mr. 
Carteret's  clothes  his  face  showed  surprise. 

"Hello!"  he  said,  "you  had  better  hurry  and 
change,  or  you  will  be  late.  We  have  to  start  in  half 
an  hour  to  meet  Grady." 

Mr.  Carteret  coughed.  "I  don't  think  that  I  can 
go  out  to-day.  It  is  a  great  disappointment." 

"Not  going  hunting?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Ascott- 
Smith.  "What  is  the  matter? " 


10  MR.     CARTERET     AND    HIS 

"I  have  a  bad  cold,"  said  Mr.  Carteret  miserably. 

"But,  my  dear  fellow,"  exclaimed  Lord  Frederic, 
"it  will  do  your  cold  a  world  of  good!" 

"Not  a  cold  like  mine,"  said  Mr.  Carteret. 

"But  this  is  the  day,  don't  you  know?"  said  Lord 
Frederic.  "How  am  I  going  to  manage  things  without 
you?" 

"All  that  you  have  to  do  is  to  meet  them  at  the 
station  and  take  them  to  the  meet,"  said  Mr.  Carteret. 
"Everything  else  has  been  arranged." 

"But  Fm  awfully  disappointed,"  said  Lord  Fred- 
eric. "I  had  counted  on  you  to  help,  don't  you  see,  and 
introduce  them  to  Ploversdale.  It  would  be  more 
graceful  for  an  American  to  do  it  than  for  me.  You 
understand?" 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Carteret,  "I  understand.  It's  a 
great  disappointment,  but  I  must  bear  it  philosophical- 
ly." 

Mrs.  Ascott-Smith  looked  at  him  sympathetically, 
and  he  coughed  twice.  "You  are  suffering,"  she  said. 
"Freddy,  you  really  must  not  urge  him  to  expose  him- 
self. Have  you  a  pain  here?"  she  inquired,  touching 
herself  in  the  region  of  the  pleura. 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Carteret,  "it  is  just  there,  but  I 
daresay  that  it  will  soon  be  better." 

"I  am  afraid  not,"  said  his  hostess.  "This  is  the 


FELLOW     AMERICANS     ABROAD  II 

way  pneumonia  begins.  You  must  take  a  medicine  that 
I  have.  They  say  that  it  is  quite  wonderful  for  in- 
flammatory colds.  I'll  send  Hodgson  for  it,"  and  she 
touched  the  bell. 

"Please,  please  don't  take  that  trouble,"  entreated 
Mr.  Carteret. 

"But  you  must  take  it,"  said  Mrs.  Ascott-Smith. 
"They  call  it  Broncholine.  You  pour  it  in  a  tin  and 
'  inhale  it  or  swallow  it,  I  forget  which,  but  it's  very 
efficacious.  They  used  it  on  Teddy's  pony  when  it  was 
sick.  The  little  creature  died,  but  that  was  because  they 
gave  it  too  much,  or  not  enough,  I  forget  which." 

Hodgson  appeared  and  Mrs.  Ascott-Smith  gave  di- 
rections about  the  Broncholine. 

"I  thank  you  very  much,"  said  Mr.  Carteret  hum- 
bly. "I'll  go  to  my  room  and  try  it  at  once." 

"That's  a  good  chap!"  said  Lord  Frederic,  "per- 
haps you  will  feel  so  much  better  that  you  can  join 


us." 


"Perhaps,"  said  Mr.  Carteret  gloomily,  "or  it  may 
work  as  it  did  on  the  pony."  And  he  left  the  room. 

After  Hodgson  had  departed  from  his  chamber 
leaving  explicit  directions  as  to  how  and  how  not  to 
use  the  excellent  Broncholine,  Mr.  Carteret  poured  a 
quantity  of  it  from  the  bottle  and  threw  it  out  of  the 
window,  resolving  to  be  on  the  safe  side.  Then  he 


12  MR.     CARTERET    AND    HIS 

looked  at  his  boots  and  his  pink  coat  and  white 
leathers,  which  were  laid  out  upon  the  bed.  "I  don't 
think  there  can  be  any  danger,"  he  thought,  "if  I  turn 
up  after  they  have  started.  I  loathe  stopping  in  all 
day."  He  dressed  leisurely,  ordered  his  second  horse 
to  be  sent  on,  and  some  time  after  the  rest  of  the  house- 
hold had  gone  to  the  meet  he  sallied  forth.  As  he  knew 
the  country  and  the  coverts  which  Lord  Ploversdale 
would  draw,  he  counted  on  joining  the  tail  of  the  hunt, 
thus  keeping  out  of  sight.  He  inquired  of  a  rustic  if 
he  had  seen  hounds  pass  and  receiving  "no"  for  an 
answer,  he  jogged  on  at  a  faster  trot,  fearing  that  the 
hunt  might  have  gone  away  in  some  other  direction. 

As  he  came  around  a  bend  in  the  road,  he  saw  four 
women  riding  toward  him,  and  as  they  drew  near,  he 
saw  that  they  were  Lady  Violet  Weatherbone  and  her 
three  daughters.  These  young  ladies  were  known  as 
the  Three  Guardsmen,  a  sobriquet  not  wholly  inap- 
propriate; for,  as  Lord  Frederic  described  them,  they 
were  "big-boned,  upstanding  fillies,"  between  twenty- 
five  and  thirty  and  very  hard  goers  across  any  country, 
and  always  together. 

"Good  morning,"  said  Mr.  Carteret,  bowing.  "I 
suppose  the  hounds  are  close  by?"  It  was  a  natural 
assumption,  as  Lady  Violet  on  hunting  days  was  never 
very  far  from  the  hounds. 


FELLOW     AMERICANS     ABROAD  I3 

"I  do  not  know,"  she  responded,  and  her  tone  fur- 
ther implied  that  she  did  not  care. 

Mr.  Carteret  hesitated  a  moment.  "Is  anything  the 
matter?"  he  asked.  "Has  anything  happened?" 

"Yes,"  said  Lady  Violet  frankly,  "something  has 
happened."  Here  the  daughters  modestly  turned  their 
horses  away. 

"Some  one,"  continued  Lady  Violet,  "brought 
savages  to  the  meet."  She  paused  impressively. 

"Not  really! "  said  Mr.  Carteret.  It  was  all  that  he 
could  think  of  to  say. 

"Yes,"  said  Lady  Violet,  "and  while  it  would  have 
mattered  little  to  me,  it  was  impossible — "  she  mo- 
tioned with  her  head  toward  the  three  maidens,  and 
paused. 

"Forgive  me,"  said  Mr.  Carteret,  "but  do  I  quite 
understand?" 

"At  the  first  I  thought,"  said  Lady  Violet,  "that 
they  were  attired  in  painted  fleshings,  but  upon  using 
my  glass,  it  was  clear  that  I  was  mistaken.  Otherwise, 
I  should  have  brought  them  away  at  the  first  mo- 
ment." 

"I  see,"  said  Mr.  Carteret.  "It  is  most  unfortu- 
nate!" 

"It  is,  indeed!"  said  Lady  Violet;  "but  the  matter 
will  not  be  allowed  to  drop.  They  were  brought  to 


14  MR.     CARTERET     AND    HIS 

the  meet  by  that  young  profligate,  Lord  Frederic 
Westcote." 

"You  amaze  me,"  said  Mr.  Carteret.  He  bowed, 
started  his  horse,  and  jogged  along  for  five  minutes, 
then  he  turned  to  the  right  upon  a  crossroad  and  sud- 
denly found  himself  with  hounds.  They  were  feather- 
ing excitedly  about  the  mouth  of  a  tile  drain  into 
which  the  fox  had  evidently  gone.  No  master,  hunts- 
men or  whips  were  in  sight,  but  sitting  wet  and  mud- 
daubed  upon  horses  dripping  with  muddy  water  were 
Grady  dressed  in  cowboy  costume  and  three  naked 
Indians.  Mr.  Carteret  glanced  about  over  the  country 
and  understood.  They  had  swum  the  brook  at  the 
place  where  it  ran  between  steep  clay  banks  and  the 
rest  of  the  field  had  gone  around  to  the  bridge.  As  he 
looked  toward  the  south,  he  saw  Lord  Ploversdale 
riding  furiously  toward  him  followed  by  Smith,  the 
huntsman.  Grady  had  not  recognized  Mr.  Carteret 
turned  out  in  pink  as  he  was,  and  for  the  moment  the 
latter  decided  to  remain  incognito. 

Before  Lord  Ploversdale,  Master  of  Fox-hounds, 
reached  the  road,  he  began  waving  his  whip.  He  ap- 
peared excited.  "What  do  you  mean  by  riding  upon 
my  hounds?"  he  shouted.  He  said  this  in  several  ways 
with  various  accompanying  phrases,  but  neither  the 
Indians  nor  Grady  seemed  to  notice  him.  It  occurred 


FELLOW     AMERICANS     ABROAD  15 

to  Mr.  Carteret  that,  although  Lord  Ploversdale's 
power  of  expression  was  wonderful  for  England,  it 
nevertheless  fell  short  of  Arizona  standards.  Then, 
however,  he  noticed  that  Grady  was  absorbed  in  ad- 
justing a  kodak  camera,  with  which  he  was  evidently 
about  to  take  a  picture  of  the  Indians  alone  with  the 
hounds.  He  drew  back  in  order  both  to  avoid  being  in 
the  field  of  the  picture  and  to  avoid  too  close  proximity 
with  Lord  Ploversdale  as  he  came  over  the  fence  into 
the  road. 

"What  do  you  mean,  sir!"  shouted  the  enraged 
Master  of  Fox-hounds,  as  he  pulled  up  his  horse. 

"A  little  more  in  the  middle,"  replied  Grady,  still 
absorbed  in  taking  the  picture. 

Lord  Ploversdale  hesitated.  He  was  speechless  with 
surprise  for  the  moment. 

Grady  pressed  the  button  and  began  putting  up  the 
machine. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  riding  on  my  hounds,  you 
and  these  persons?"  demanded  Lord  Ploversdale. 

"We  didn't,"  said  Grady  amicably,  "but  if  your 
bunch  of  dogs  don't  know  enough  to  keep  out  of  the 
way  of  a  horse,  they  ought  to  learn." 

Lord  Ploversdale  looked  aghast  and  Smith,  the 
huntsman,  pinched  himself  to  make  sure  that  he  was 
not  dreaming. 


l6  MR.     CARTERET    AND    HIS 

"Many  thanks  for  your  advice,"  said  Lord  Plovers- 
dale.  "May  I  inquire  who  you  and  your  friends  may 
be?" 

"I'm  James  Grady/'  said  that  gentleman.  "This," 
he  said,  pointing  to  the  Indian  nearest,  "is  Chief  Hole- 
in-the-Ground  of  the  Ogallala  Sioux.  Him  in  the 
middle  is  Mr.  Jim  Snake,  and  the  one  beyond  is  Chief 
Skytail,  a  Pawnee." 

"Thank  you,  that  is  very  interesting,"  said  Lord 
Ploversdale,  with  polite  irony.  "Now  will  you  kindly 
take  them  home?" 

"See  here,"  said  Grady,  strapping  the  camera  to  his 
saddle,  "I  was  invited  to  this  hunt,  regular,  and  if  you 
hand  me  out  any  more  hostile  talk — "  He  paused. 

"Who  invited  you?"  inquired  Lord  Ploversdale. 

"One  of  your  own  bunch,"  said  Grady,  "Lord 
Frederic  Westcote.  I'm  no  butter-in." 

"Your  language  is  difficult  to  understand,"  said 
Lord  Ploversdale.  "Where  is  Lord  Frederic  West- 
cote?" 

Mr.  Carteret  had  watched  the  field  approaching  as 
fast  as  whip  and  spur  could  drive  them,  and  in  the 
first  flight  he  noticed  Lord  Frederic  and  the  Major. 
For  this  reason  he  still  hesitated  about  thrusting  him- 
self into  the  discussion.  It  seemed  that  the  interference 
of  a  third  party  could  only  complicate  matters,  inas- 


FELLOW    AMERICANS    ABROAD  I7 

much  as  Lord  Frederic  would  so  soon  be  upon  the 
spot. 

Lord  Ploversdale  looked  across  the  field  impatient- 
ly. "Pve  no  doubt,  my  good  fellow,  that  Lord  Frederic 
Westcote  brought  you  here  and  I'll  see  him  about  it, 
but  kindly  take  these  fellows  home.  They'll  kill  all 
my  hounds." 

"Now  you're  beginning  to  talk  reasonable,"  said 
Grady.  "I'll  discuss  with  you." 

The  words  were  hardly  out  of  his  mouth  before 
hounds  gave  tongue  riotously  and  went  off.  The  fox 
had  slipped  out  of  the  other  end  of  the  drain,  and  old 
Archer  had  found  the  line. 

As  if  shot  out  of  a  gun  the  three  Indians  dashed 
at  the  stake-and-bound  fence  on  the  farther  side  of 
the  road,  joyously  using  their  heavy  quirts  on  the 
Major's  thoroughbreds.  Skytail's  horse  being  hurried 
too  much,  blundered  his  take-off,  hit  above  the  knees 
and  rolled  over  on  the  Chief  who  was  sitting  tight. 
There  was  a  stifled  grunt  and  then  the  Pawnee  word 
"Go-dam!" 

Hole-in-the-Ground  looked  back  and  laughed  one 
of  the  few  laughs  of  his  life.  It  was  a  joke  which  he 
could  understand.  Then  he  used  the  quirt  again  to 
make  the  most  of  his  advantage. 

"That  one  is  finished,"  said  Lord  Ploversdale  grate- 


l8  MR.     CARTERET     AND    HIS 

fully.  But  as  the  words  were  in  his  mouth,  Skytail  rose 
with  his  horse,  vaulted  up  and  was  away. 

The  M.  F.  H.  followed  over  the  fence  shouting  at 
Smith  to  whip  off  the  hounds.  But  the  hounds  were 
going  too  fast.  They  had  got  a  view  of  the  fox  and 
three  whooping  horsemen  were  behind  them  driving 
them  on. 

The  first  flight  of  the  field  followed  the  M.  F.  H. 
out  of  the  road  and  so  did  Mr.  Carteret,  and  presently 
he  found  himself  riding  between  Lord  Frederic  and 
the  Major.  They  were  both  a  bit  winded  and  had 
evidently  come  fast. 

"I  say,"  exclaimed  Lord  Frederic,  "where  did  you 
come  from? " 

"I  was  cured  by  the  Broncholine,"  said  Mr.  Car- 
teret, "amazing  stuff!" 

"Is  your  horse  fresh? "  asked  Lord  Frederic. 

"Yes,"  replied  Mr.  Carteret,  "I  happened  upon 
them  at  the  road," 

"Then  go  after  that  man  Grady,"  said  Lord  Fred- 
eric, "and  beg  him  to  take  those  beggars  home.  They 
have  been  riding  on  hounds  for  twenty  minutes." 

"Were  they  able,"  asked  Mr.  Carteret,  "to  stay 
with  their  horses  at  the  fences?" 

"Stay  with  their  horses!"  puffed  the  Major. 

"Go  on  like  a  good  chap,"  said  Lord  Frederic,  "stop 


FELLOW     AMERICANS     ABROAD  I9 

that  fellow  or  I  shall  be  expelled  from  the  hunt;  per- 
haps put  in  jail.  Was  Ploversdale  vexed?"  he  added. 

"I  should  judge  by  his  language,"  said  Mr.  Car- 
teret, "that  he  was  vexed." 

"Hurry  on,"  said  Lord  Frederic.  "Put  your  spurs 


in." 


Mr.  Carteret  gave  his  horse  its  head  and  he  shot  to 
the  front,  but  Grady  was  nearly  a  field  in  the  lead  and 
it  promised  to  be  a  long  chase  as  he  was  on  the  Major's 
black  thoroughbred.  The  cowboy  rode  along  with  a 
loose  rein  and  an  easy  balance  seat.  At  his  fences  he 
swung  his  hat  and  cheered.  He  seemed  to  be  enjoying 
himself  and  Mr.  Carteret  was  anxious  lest  he  might 
begin  to  shoot  for  pure  delight.  Such  a  demonstration 
would  have  been  misconstrued.  Nearly  two  hundred 
yards  ahead  at  the  heels  of  the  pack  galloped  the 
Indians,  and  in  the  middle  distance  between  them  and 
Grady  rode  Lord  Ploversdale  and  Smith  vainly  trying 
to  overtake  the  hounds  and  whip  them  off.  Behind  and 
trailing  over  a  mile  or  more  came  the  field  and  the 
rest  of  the  hunt  servants  in  little  groups,  all  awestruck 
at  what  had  happened.  It  was  unspeakable  that  Lord 
Ploversdale's  hounds  which  had  been  hunted  by  his 
father  and  his  grandfather  should  be  so  scandalized. 

Mr.  Carteret  finally  got  within  a  length  of  Grady 
and  hailed  him. 


20  MR.     CARTERET    AND    HIS 

"Hello,  Carty,"  said  Grady,  "glad  to  see  you.  I 
thought  you  were  sick.  What  can  I  do?  They've 
stampeded.  But  it's  a  great  ad.  for  the  show,  isn't  it? 
I've  got  four  reporters  in  a  hack  on  the  road." 

"Forget  about  the  show,"  said  Mr.  Carteret.  "This 
isn't  any  laughing  matter.  Ploversdale's  hounds  are 
one  of  the  smartest  packs  in  England.  You  don't  un- 
derstand." 

"It  will  make  all  the  better  story  in  the  papers," 
said  Grady. 

"No,  it  won't,"  said  Mr.  Carteret.  "They  won't 
print  it.  It's  like  a  blasphemy  upon  the  Church." 

"Whoop!"  yelled  Grady,  as  they  tore  through  a 
bullfinch. 

"Call  them  off,"  said  Mr.  Carteret,  straightening 
his  hat. 

"But  I  can't  catch  'em,"  said  Grady,  and  that  was 
the  truth. 

Lord  Ploversdale,  however,  had  been  gaining  on 
the  Indians,  and  by  the  way  in  which  he  clubbed 
his  heavy  crop,  loaded  at  the  butt,  it  was  apparent 
that  he  meant  to  put  an  end  to  the  proceedings  if  he 
could. 

Just  then  hounds  swept  over  the  crest  of  a  green 
hill  and  as  they  went  down  the  other  side,  they  viewed 
the  fox  in  the  field  beyond.  He  was  in  distress,  and  it 


IS 


<ii 
-^ 


-ss 


FELLOW     AMERICANS     ABROAD  21 

looked  as  if  the  pack  would  kill  in  the  open.  They 
were  running  wonderfully  together,  the  traditional 
blanket  would  have  covered  them,  and  in  the  natural 
glow  of  pride  which  came  over  the  M.  F.  H.,  he 
loosened  his  grip  upon  the  crop.  But  as  the  hounds 
viewed  the  fox  so  did  the  three  sons  of  the  wilderness 
who  were  following  close  behind.  From  the  hill-top 
fifty  of  the  hardest  going  men  in  England  saw  Hole- 
in-the-Ground  flogging  his  horse  with  the  heavy 
quirt  which  hung  from  his  wrist.  The  outraged  British 
hunter  shot  forward  scattering  hounds  to  right  and 
left,  flew  a  ditch  and  hedge  and  was  close  on  the  fox 
who  had  stopped  to  make  a  last  stand.  Without  draw- 
ing rein,  the  astonished  onlookers  saw  the  lean  Indian 
suddenly  disappear  under  the  neck  of  his  horse  and 
almost  instantly  swing  back  into  his  seat  waving  a 
brown  thing  above  his  head.  Hole-in-the-Ground  had 
caught  the  fox! 

"Most  unprecedented!"  Mr.  Carteret  heard  the 
Major  exclaim.  He  pulled  up  his  horse,  as  the  field 
did  theirs,  and  waited  apprehensively.  He  saw  Hole- 
in-the-Ground  circle  around,  jerk  the  Major's  i^Yt 
hundred  guinea  hunter  to  a  standstill  close  to  Lord 
Ploversdale  and  address  him.  He  was  speaking  in  his 
own  language. 

As  the  Chief  went  on,  he  saw  Grady  smile. 


22  MR.     CARTERET     AND    HIS 

"He  says,"  said  Grady  translating,  "that  the  white 
chief  can  eat  the  fox  if  he  wants  him.  He's  proud  him- 
self bein'  packed  with  store  grub." 

The  English  onlookers  heard  and  beheld  with  blank 
faces.  It  was  beyond  them. 

The  M.  F.  H.  bowed  stiffly  as  Hole-in-the- 
Ground's  offer  was  made  known  to  him.  He  regarded 
them  a  moment  in  thought.  A  vague  light  was  break- 
ing in  upon  him.  "Aw,  thank  you,"  he  said,  "thanks 
awfully.  Smith,  take  the  fox.  Good  afternoon!" 

Then  he  wheeled  his  horse,  called  the  hounds  in 
with  his  horn  and  trotted  out  to  the  road  that  led  to 
the  kennels.  Lord  Ploversdale,  though  he  had  never 
been  out  of  England,  was  cast  in  a  large  mold. 

The  three  Indians  sat  on  their  panting  horses, 
motionless,  stolidly  facing  the  curious  gaze  of  the 
crowd  j  or  rather  they  looked  through  the  crowd,  as 
the  lion  with  the  high  breeding  of  the  desert  looks 
through  and  beyond  the  faces  that  stare  and  gape  be- 
fore the  bars  of  his  cage. 

"Most  amazing!  Most  amazing!"  muttered  the 
Major. 

"It  is,"  said  Mr.  Carteret,  "if  you  have  never  been 
away  from  this."  He  made  a  sweeping  gesture  over 
the  restricted  English  scenery,  pampered  and  brought 
up  by  hand. 


FELLOW  AMERICANS  ABROAD      23 

"Been  away  from  this?"  repeated  the  Major.  "I 
don't  understand." 

Mr.  Carteret  turned  to  him.  How  could  he  explain 
it? 

"With  us,"  he  began,  laying  an  emphasis  on  the 
"us."  Then  he  stopped.  "Look  into  their  eyes,"  he 
said  hopelessly. 

The  Major  looked  at  him  blankly.  How  could  he, 
Major  Hammerslea  of  "The  Blues,"  tell  what  those 
inexplicable  dark  eyes  saw  beyond  the  fenced  tillage! 
What  did  he  know  of  the  brown,  bare,  illimitable 
range  under  the  noonday  sun,  the  evening  light  on  far, 
silent  mountains,  the  starlit  desert! 


HOW    MR.    CARTERET    PROPOSED 


II 

HOW    MR.    CARTERET    PROPOSED 

BARCLAY  slowly  guidcd  his  horse  through  the 
mounted  throng  to  the  spot  where  Mr.  Car- 
teret was  sitting  on  a  chestnut  thoroughbred 
horse  watching  hounds  as  they  came  straggling  out 
of  the  spinney.  They  had  drawn  blank.  The  fox 
was  not  at  home.  When  Barclay  reached  his  friend 
he  pulled  up  casually  as  if  he  had  come  for  no  ex- 
press purpose,  and  said  nothing.  After  a  few  moments 
he  began,  as  if  an  idea  had  just  come  to  him: 

"It  has  occurred  to  me,  Carty,"  he  said,  "that  if 
we  brought  American  horses  to  England,  we  could 
make  a  lot  of  money." 

"That  idea  has  occurred  to  others,"  replied  Mr. 
Carteret,  without  turning  his  head.  He  was  absorbed 
in  the  enjoyable  discovery  that  the  scene  before  him 
was  like  a  hunting-print.  The  browns  of  the  wood  and 
bracken,  the  winter  green  of  the  hill  pastures,  the 
scarlet  coats,  the  gray  sky  of  the  English  winter,  were 
all  happily  true  to  art. 

"As  I  say,"  he  went  on,  "the  idea  has  occurred  to 


28  HOW     MR.     CARTERET     PROPOSED 

Others,  but  I  have  never  heard  that  any  one  made 
money." 

"That  is  because  they  haven't  sent  over  good 
horses,"  said  Barclay.  "Suppose  we  brought  over  only 
such  thoroughbred  horses  as  we  raise  on  the  Wyoming 
ranch." 

"I  don't  think  it  would  make  any  difference,"  said 
Mr.  Carteret.  "There  is  a  prejudice  against  American 
horses." 

"Exactly,"  said  Barclay;  "and  the  way  to  meet  it 
would  be  to  have  them  ridden  and  handled  by  a  well- 
known  Englishman.  In  fact,  I  have  the  man  in  mind." 

"Who?" 

"Young  Granvil,"  was  the  answer. 

Why  Barclay  should  be  interested  in  making  money 
out  of  a  horse  business  or  in  any  other  way  had  per- 
plexed Mr.  Carteret,  for  it  was  not  according  to  his 
habits  of  mind.  Now  it  became  clear  to  him,  and  he 
suppressed  a  cynical  smile.  "I  don't  suppose  Lady 
Withers  has  discussed  this  matter  with  you,"  he  ob- 
served. 

"In  a  general  way,  yes,"  replied  Barclay;  "but  it 
was  my  suggestion." 

"Of  course,"  said  Mr.  Carteret. 

Barclay  paused  awkwardly  for  a  moment,  then  he 
said:    "Why   shouldn't    I    talk   it   over   with    Lady 


HOW     MR.     CARTERET     PROPOSED  2() 

Withers?  She  is  a  very  intelligent  woman,  and  a  good 
judge  of  a  horse." 

"An  excellent  judge  of  almost  everything,"  said  his 
friend,  "and  especially  of  young  men.  My  son,"  he 
continued  (Barclay  was  five  years  his  junior),  "it 
is  commendable  of  Lady  Withers  to  provide  for  the 
Hon.  Cecil  James  Montague  Granvil.  He  is  her 
nephew  and  flat  broke,  and  he  needs  people  to  look 
after  him  because  he  is  almost  less  than  half-witted. 
But  that  is  no  reason  why  you  should  be  the  person  to 
look  after  him." 

"You  are  unjust  to  Cecil,"  said  Barclay,  "and  most 
unkind  in  your  insinuations  as  to  Lady  Withers.  This 
was  my  own  idea  entirely,  and  I  think  it  would  be 
profitable  for  both  of  us.  You  know  you  are  always 
complaining  because  I  don't  take  more  interest  in  the 
ranches." 

"If  I  have  been  unkind  to  Lady  Withers,"  said  Mr. 
Carteret,  "I  am  going  to  be  much  more  so." 

Barclay  looked  challengingly.  "What  do  you 
mean.^"  he  demanded. 

"Lady  Withers,"  said  Mr.  Carteret,  "is  a  widow, 
aged  forty-four, — you  can  verify  that  in  Burke, — a 
man-eater  by  temperament  and  habit.  You  are  twelve 
years  younger  than  she,  with  a  great  deal  more  money 
than  is  good  for  you.  Whether  she  intends  to  marry 


30         HOW     MR.     CARTERET     PROPOSED 

you  I  don't  pretend  to  know,  but  it  is  not  unlikely.  At 
any  rate,  you  are  unquestionably  on  the  list  as  a  source 
of  income  and  supply." 

Somewhat  to  Mr.  Carteret's  surprise,  Barclay 
listened  calmly. 

"Do  you  really  think  Lady  Withers  considers  me 
eligible?"  he  asked. 

"She  does,  if  she  has  any  true  conception  of  your 
securities." 

Barclay  smiled  a  pleased  smile.  "I  shall  not  stop  to 
discuss  Lady  Withers's  age,"  he  said.  "Have  you  any 
objections  to  her  aside  from  that?" 

Mr.  Carteret  looked  at  him  with  outward  calm, 
but  inwardly  he  was  filled  with  horror.  "Are  you  en- 
gaged to  her? "  he  asked. 

"I  am  not,"  said  Barclay. 

"Then  I  shall  tell  you,"  he  went  on,  "that  I  have 
objections.  Their  nature  I  have  no  time  to  disclose  at 
present  further  than  to  say  that  any  woman  who  puts 
a  nice  girl  like  her  niece  upon  the  horse  she  is  riding 
to-day  is  a  bad  lot." 

Barclay's  expression  changed.  "What  is  the  matter 
with  the  horse?"  he  demanded. 

"I'm  not  sure  that  I  know  all  that  is  the  matter  with 
him,"  said  Carty,  "but  I  wouldn't  ride  him  over  a 
fence  for  the  Bank  of  England." 


HOW     MR.     CARTERET     PROPOSED  3I 

"Do  you  know  that,  or  are  you  just  talking?"  said 
Barclay. 

"I  ought  to  know/'  said  the  other.  "I  owned  him. 
After  what  he  did  to  me,  I  ought  to  have  shot  him. 
We'd  better  jog  along,"  he  added,  "or  we  shall  get 
pocketed  and  never  get  through  the  gate." 

The  huntsman  had  called  his  hounds  and  was  car- 
rying them  to  the  next  cover,  and  Mr.  Carteret  set 
his  horse  to  a  trot  and  struggled  for  a  place  in  the  vast 
scarlet-coated  throng  that  surged  toward  the  gate 
leading  out  of  the  meadow.  At  the  same  time  Barclay 
disappeared. 

"I  hope  he  tells  Lady  Withers  about  the  horse," 
said  Mr.  Carteret  to  himself.  "If  she  doesn't  keep  her 
hands  off  him,  I  shall  tell  her  several  things  myself." 

Just  at  that  moment  the  eddying  currents  of  the 
human  maelstrom  brought  him  alongside  a  slender 
little  figure  in  a  weather-beaten  habit  and  a  bowler 
hat  jammed  down  to  her  ears  over  a  mass  of  golden 
hair.  Although  the  knot  of  hair  was  twisted  cruelly 
tight,  and  although  the  hat  did  its  best  to  cover  it, 
even  a  man's  eye  could  see  that  it  was  profuse  and 
wonderful.  It  was  unnecessary  for  him  to  look  at  the 
horse.  He  knew  that  he  was  beside  Lady  Mary  Gran- 
vil.  Lady  Withers's  niece.  "Good  afternoon,"  he  said 
and  she  turned  toward  him.  It  was  a  sad  rather  than  a 


32  HOW     MR.     CARTERET     PROPOSED 

pretty  face,  but  one's  attention  never  rested  long  upon 
itj  for  a  pair  of  gray  eyes  shone  from  under  the  brows, 
and  after  the  first  glance  one  looked  at  the  eyes. 

"Good  afternoon,"  he  said  again.  The  eyes  rather 
disconcerted  him.  "Do  you  happen  to  know  anything 
about  that  horse  you're  riding?" 

"It's  one  that  my  aunt  bought  quite  recently,"  said 
the  girl.  "She  and  Cecil  wished  me  to  try  it." 

"I  hope  you  won't  think  me  rude,"  said  Mr.  Car- 
teret, "but  I  once  owned  him,  and  I  think  you'll  find 
this  horse  of  mine  a  much  pleasanter  beast  to  ride.  I'll 
have  the  saddles  changed." 

Lady  Mary  looked  at  him,  and  a  light  flashed  in 
her  gray  eyes.  "You  are  very  good,"  she  said,  "but  this 
is  my  aunt's  horse,  and  my  brother  told  me  to  ride  it." 
She  forged  ahead,  and  disappeared  in  the  currents  of 
the  crowd. 

"I  did  that  very  badly,"  Mr.  Carteret  said  to  him- 
self, and  fell  into  the  line  and  waited  for  his  turn  at 
the  gate. 

He  and  Barclay,  Lady  Withers,  and  many  other 
people  were  stopping  the  week-end  at  Mrs.  Ascott- 
Smith's,  who  had  Chilliecote  Abbey,  and  when  he  got 
home  that  afternoon  he  went  at  once  to  the  great 
library,  where  the  ceremony  of  tea  was  celebrated. 
The  daylight  was  fading  from  the  mullioned  windows 


HOW     MR.     CARTERET     PROPOSED  33 

as  it  had  faded  on  winter  afternoons  for  three  hun- 
dred years.  Candles  burned  on  the  vacant  card-tables, 
while  the  occupants  of  the  room  gathered  in  the  glow 
of  the  great  Elizabethan  fireplace  and  conversed  and 
ate.  As  he  approached  the  circle,  Lady  Withers  put 
down  her  tea  cup. 

"Did  you  have  another  run  after  we  pulled  out?" 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Carteret  j  "rather  a  good  one." 

Suddenly  her  eyes  began  to  beam.  There  was  a  dis- 
play of  red  lips  and  white  teeth,  and  a  sort  of  general 
facial  radiation.  It  was  an  effort  usually  fatal  to 
guardsmen,  but  it  affected  Mr.  Carteret  like  the  turn- 
ing on  of  an  electric  heater,  and  he  backed  away  as  if 
he  felt  the  room  were  warm  enough.  "I  am  so  glad," 
she  said. 

"Tell  me,"  she  went  on  in  her  soft  delightfully 
modulated  voice,  "aren't  you  interested  with  Mr. 
Barclay  in  some  farms?" 

"We  own  two  ranches  together,"  said  Mr.  Carteret. 

"Yes,  that  was  it,"  said  Lady  Withers;  "and  you 
raise  horses  on  them?" 

Mr.  Carteret  apprehended  what  was  coming.  "Yes; 
ranch  horses,"  he  said  dryly. 

"And  such  good  ones,  as  Mr.  Barclay  was  telling 
me,"  said  Lady  Withers.  "He  made  me  quite  enthusi- 
astic with  his  account  of  it  all,  and  he  is  so  anxious  to 


34         HOW     MR.     CARTERET     PROPOSED 

have  dear  Cecil  manage  them  in  England;  but  before 
Cecil  decides  one  way  or  the  other  I  want  your  ad- 


vice." 


Mr.  Carteret  looked  at  her  and  stroked  his  mus- 
tache. His  opportunity  to  save  Barclay  had  come.  "My 
advice  would  be  worth  very  little,"  he  saidj  "but  I 
can  give  you  all  the  facts,  and  of  course  Barclay — well, 
he  can't." 

A  shade  of  apprehension  crossed  Lady  Withers's 
face.  "And  why  not?"  she  demanded. 

"I  should  rather  not  go  into  that,"  said  Mr.  Car- 
teret. "Of  course  the  great  objection  to  the  scheme  is 
that  it  would  be  unprofitable  for  Mr.  Granvil,  because 
no  one  would  buy  our  horses." 

"But  wouldn't  they,"  said  Lady  Withers,  "if  they 
were  good  ones?" 

"Major  Hammerslea  can  answer  that  question  bet- 
ter than  I,"  said  Mr.  Carteret.  He  looked  toward  that 
great  man  and  smiled.  The  Major  was  the  author  of 
"Schooling  and  Riding  British  Hunters,"  and  Mr. 
Carteret  knew  his  views. 

"No  one,"  said  the  Major,  impressively,  "would 
buy  an  American  horse  if  he  desired  to  make  or  possess 
a  really  good  hunter." 

"But  why  advertise  that  they  were  American?" 
observed  Lady  Withers,  blandly. 


HOW     MR.     CARTERET     PROPOSED  35 

"How  could  you  hide  it?"  said  the  Major. 

"Exactly,"  said  Mr.  Carteret. 

"Furthermore,"  observed  the  Major,  his  interest  in 
the  controversy  growing,  "the  output  of  a  single  breed- 
ing institution  would  scarcely  make  it  worth  Cecil's 
while  to  manage  an  agency  for  their  distribution." 

"I  think  you  don't  understand,"  said  Lady  Withers, 
"that  Mr.  Carteret  has  a  large  place." 

"My  friend  the  Duke  of  Westchester,"  began  the 
Major,  "has  in  his  breeding  farm  eight  thousand 


acres — " 


"But  I've  no  doubt  that  Mr.  Carteret's  is  very  nearly 
as  large,"  interrupted  Lady  Withers. 

"I  don't  think  size  has  anything  to  do  with  it,"  said 
Mr.  Carteret,  uneasily.  "The  fact  is,  we  don't  raise 
the  kind  of  horse  that  English  dealers  would  buy." 

"I  think  size  has  much  to  do  with  it,"  replied  the 
Major. 

"I  wish,"  said  Lady  Withers,  "that  you  would  tell 
Major  Hammerslea  exactly  how  large  your  farms 


are." 


"I  don't  know  exactly,"  said  Mr.  Carteret,  uneasily. 

"But,  about  how  large?"  insisted  Lady  Withers. 

"There  is  something  over  a  million  acres  in  the 
Texas  piece,"  said  Mr.  Carteret,  with  some  embarrass- 
ment, "and  under  six  hundred  thousand  in  Wyoming." 


36  HOW     MR.     CARTERET     PROPOSED 

Lady  Withers  and  the  Major  both  looked  at  him 
with  eyes  of  amazement.  But  Lady  Withers's  amaze- 
ment was  admiring. 

"I  thought  so,"  said  she,  calmly.  The  Major  in 
silence  walked  over  to  the  table  and  took  a  cigar. 
"Looking  at  it  from  all  points  of  view,"  she  continued, 
"it  would  be  just  the  thing  for  Cecil.  He  is  intelligent 
with  regard  to  horses." 

"But  I  don't  wish  to  go  to  Texas,"  said  the  Hon. 
Cecil,  who  had  joined  the  group.  "They  say  the 
shootin'  's  most  moderate." 

"It  isn't  necessary  "jet  for  you  to  go  to  Texas,"  said 
Lady  Withers,  coldly.  "Mr.  Carteret  and  I  are  ar- 
ranging to  employ  your  talents  in  England." 

"Of  course  another  objection,"  said  Mr.  Carteret, 
'4s  that  Granvil  is  too  good  a  man  to  waste  on  such 
an  occupation.  The  horse  business  is  very  confining. 
It's  an  awful  bore  to  be  tied  down." 

"You  are  absolutely  right  about  that,"  said  the 
Hon.  Cecil,  with  a  burst  of  frankness.  "You  don't 
know  what  a  relief  it  is  to  be  out  of  the  Guards. 
Awfully  confining  life,  the  Guards." 

"I  think,"  said  Lady  Withers,  apparently  oblivious 
to  the  views  of  her  nephew,  "that  Mr.  Barclay  takes 
rather  the  more  businesslike  view  of  these  matters. 
It  is  he,  I  fancy,  who  looks  after  the  affairs  of  your 


HOW     MR.     CARTERET     PROPOSED  37 

estates  J  and  I  should  judge,"  she  continued,  "that, 
after  all,  his  advice  to  a  young  man  like  Cecil  with  a 
very  moderate  income  would  be  wiser.  I  believe  very 
much  in  an  occupation  for  young  men." 

Mr.  Carteret  saw  that  his  time  had  come.  He 
looked  at  Lady  Withers  and  smiled  sadly.  "Of  course 
Fm  very  fond  of  Barclay,"  he  said  in  a  lower  tone, 
"and  of  course  he  is  an  awfully  charming,  plausible 
boy — "  Then  he  stopped,  apparently  because  Major 
Hammerslea  was  returning  with  his  cigar. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Lady  Withers. 

Mr.  Carteret  made  no  direct  reply,  but  moved 
toward  the  piano,  and  Lady  Withers  followed.  "It  is 
best  to  speak  plainly,"  he  said,  "because,  after  all,  busi- 
ness is  business,  as  we  say." 

"Exactly,"  said  Lady  Withers.  Her  teeth  had 
ceased  to  gleam.  The  radiance  had  left  her  face, 
though  not  the  bloom  upon  it.  Her  large,  beaming 
eyes  had  contracted.  She  looked  almost  twenty  years 
older. 

"The  fact  is,"  said  Mr.  Carteret,  steadily,  "that 
Barclay  is  not  the  business  manager  of  our  ranches. 
He  is  not  a  business  man  at  all.  It  is  true  that  he  still 
retains  a  certain  interest  in  the  ranch  properties  but 
he  has  been  so  unbusinesslike  that  everything  he's  got 
is  in  the  hands  of  a  trustee.  He  gets  his  income  month- 


38  HOW     MR.     CARTERET     PROPOSED 

ly,  like  a  remittance-man.  He  is  not  in  actual  wantj 
but—" 

"I  see,"  said  Lady  Withers,  coldly.  "I  had  misun- 
derstood the  situation."  She  turned  and  crossed  to  one 
of  the  card  tables  and  sat  down. 

After  she  had  gone,  Mr.  Carteret  lighted  a  cigarette 
and  went  out.  It  was  his  intention  to  go  to  his  room, 
have  his  tub,  and  change.  His  mind  was  relieved.  He 
had  no  fear  that  Lady  Withers  would  either  beam  or 
radiate  for  a  young  man  whose  fortune  was  in  cap- 
tivity to  a  trustee.  He  had  saved  Barclay,  and  he  was 
pleased  with  himself.  As  he  passed  through  the  twi- 
light of  the  main  hallway,  the  front  door  opened,  and 
Lady  Mary  Granvil  and  Barclay  entered  side  by  side. 
It  was  the  girl's  voice  that  he  heard  first. 

"Please  have  it  dressed  at  once,"  she  was  saying. 

"But  there's  no  hurry,"  said  Barclay. 

"Please,  at  once,"  said  the  girl.  There  was  some- 
thing in  her  tone  that  made  Mr.  Carteret  turn  from 
the  stairs  and  go  forward  to  meet  them. 

"I've  snapped  my  collar-bone,"  said  Barclay.  "It's 
nothing." 

The  girl  drew  back  a  step  into  the  heavy  shadow 
of  the  corner,  but  Mr.  Carteret  did  not  notice  it.  "So 
old  True  Blue  has  put  you  down  at  last,"  he  said. 

"Yes,"  said  Barclay  evasively  j  "that  is — " 


HOW     MR.     CARTERET     PROPOSED  39 

"He  was  not  riding  True  Blue,"  said  Lady  Mary 
resolutely.  "He  was  riding  my  horse.  Mr.  Barclay 
changed  with  me." 

"The  horse  was  all  right,"  said  Barclay,  hurriedly. 
"It  was  my  own  fault.  I  bothered  him  at  a  piece  of 
timber.  It  wasn't  the  horse  you  thought  it  was,"  he 
added  rather  anxiously.  "It  was  one  they  got  from 
Oakly,  the  dealer." 

Now,  Mr.  Carteret  had  sold  the  horse  in  question 
to  Oakly,  yet  he  said  nothing,  but  stood  and  looked 
from  one  to  the  other.  Disturbing  suspicions  were 
springing  up  in  the  depths  of  his  mind. 

The  girl  broke  the  silence.  "You  ought  to  get  it 
set  without  any  more  delay,"  she  said;  "you  really 
ought.  It  will  begin  to  swell.  Go  up,  and  I  shall  have 
them  telephone  for  the  doctor." 

"You  are  quite  right,"  said  Mr.  Carteret,  "but  I'll 
see  about  the  doctor." 

He  turned  and  started  toward  the  end  of  the  long 
hall,  searching  for  a  bell  that  he  might  summon  a 
servant.  Presently  it  occurred  to  him  that  he  had  no 
idea  of  the  doctor's  name,  and  that  there  might  be 
several  doctors.  He  stopped,  turned,  and  came  back 
noiselessly  upon  the  heavy  rug  and  all  but  invisible 
in  the  dusk  of  the  unlighted  hallway.  Suddenly  he 
stopped.  The  girl  had  been  watching  Barclay  as  he 


40  HOW     MR.     CARTERET     PROPOSED 

went  up  the  stairs.  As  he  passed  out  of  sight,  she 
turned  and  dropped  into  a  chair  with  a  little  sigh,  like 
one  who  has  been  under  a  strain.  On  the  table  beside 
her  lay  the  silk  muffler  in  which  his  arm  had  been 
tied.  She  took  it  up  and  began  folding  it.  Then  she 
smoothed  it  with  curious  little  strokings  and  touches, 
and  then  suddenly  pressing  it  to  her  cheek,  put  it  down 
and  disappeared  through  the  morning-room  doorway 
in  a  confusion  in  which  she  had  surprised  herself.  Mr. 
Carteret  stepped  behind  a  curtain,  and  when  he  was 
sure  that  Lady  Mary  was  not  coming  back,  instead  of 
ordering  the  doctor,  he  went  to  Barclay's  room. 

"I  should  like  to  know,"  he  began,  "how  it  was 
that  you  were  riding  Mary  GranviPs  horse?" 

Barclay  met  his  look  steadily.  "I  wanted  to  try  it 
with  a  view  to  purchase,"  he  answered.  "You  know 
Lady  Withers  had  said  she  wished  to  sell  it." 

"Excuse  me  for  being  plain,"  said  Mr.  Carteret, 
"but  my  opinion  is  that  no  man  would  have  ridden 
that  horse  when  hounds  were  running  unless  he 
wanted  to  marry  either  the  woman  who  owned  it  or 
the  woman  who  was  riding  it." 

"Well?  "said  Barclay. 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Carteret,  "is  it  Lady  Withers?" 

"No,"  said  Barclay  decisively,  "it  isn't  Lady 
Withers." 


HOW     MR.     CARTERET     PROPOSED  41 

Mr.  Carteret  looked  at  his  young  friend  with  out- 
ward indifference.  Inwardly  he  was  experiencing 
much  relief.  "When  are  you  going  to  announce  your 
engagement?"  he  asked. 

Barclay  shook  his  head  grimly.  "I  wish  I  knew," 
he  said.  "Pm  up  against  it,  I  fancy." 

"It's  not  my  business,"  said  Mr.  Carteret,  "but  I 
should  like  to  know  what  you  mean." 

"Why,  in  a  word,  Carty,"  said  Barclay,  "Fm  not 
//,  that's  all,  and  the  situation  is  such  that  I  don't  see 
what  I  can  do  to  make  her  change  her  mind." 

Mr.  Carteret  looked  perplexed.  What  he  had  seen 
in  the  hall  gave  him  a  feeling  of  guilt.  "When  did 
she  refuse  you?"  he  asked  at  last. 

"She  hasn't  refused  me,"  answered  Barclay.  "You 
don't  ask  a  woman  to  marry  you  when  you  know  that 
she  cares  for  some  one  else." 

"So  she  cares  for  some  one  else?"  observed  Mr. 
Carteret. 

"You  could  guess  whom,"  said  Barclay. 

"Supposing  she  does  like  Brinton  a  bit,"  said  Mr. 
Carteret,  "what's  to  prevent  you  from  getting  into 
the  race?" 

"Can't  you  see!"  exclaimed  Barclay.  "If  Lady 
Withers  thought  I  wanted  to  marry  her, — you  know 
what  she'd  do." 


42         HOW     MR.     CARTERET     PROPOSED 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Carteret,  "if  she  isn't  forced  to 
marry  your  money,  she'll  have  to  marry  Tappingwell- 
Sikes's,  and,  on  the  whole,  I  think  she'd  prefer  your 
railroads  to  his  beer." 

"What  Sikes  may  do,"  said  Barclay,  "is  not  my 
business;  but  I  want  no  woman  to  marry  me  if  she 
doesn't  want  to." 

"Your  sentiments  are  not  discreditable,"  observed 
his  friend;  "but,  after  all,  she  may  want  to.  You  can't 
be  sure  until  you  ask  her." 

"Yes,  I  can,"  said  Barclay.  "Besides,  am  I  anything 
wonderful  that  she  should  jump  at  me? " 

"That  is  not  an  original  suggestion,"  said  Mr.  Car- 
teret, thoughtfully,  "yet  it  may  be  in  point.  However, 
it  is  a  great  mistake  to  act  upon  it  when  you  are  making 
love." 

"In  the  second  place,"  Barclay  continued,  "Captain 
Brinton  has  the  inside  track." 

"I  don't  think  so,"  said  Mr.  Carteret,  decisively; 
"they're  too  much  together  in  public." 

Barclay  shook  his  head  dismally.  "Over  here  it 
means  they're  engaged,"  he  said. 

"Well,  what  do  you  mean  to  do  about  it?"  asked 
Mr.  Carteret  after  a  pause. 

"What  is  there  to  do?"  answered  Barclay^ 
"Nothing  but  wait." 


HOW     MR.     CARTERET     PROPOSED  43 

"My  boy,"  said  the  older  man,  "Pm  not  surprised 
that  you're  in  love  with  Mary  Granvilj  I  am  myself, 
and,  what's  more,  I'm  not  going  to  have  her  thrown 
away  on  a  bounder  like  Tappingwell-Sikes.  If  you 
don't  propose  to  her,  I  shall.  I'll  keep  my  hands  off  for 
three  weeks,  and  then  look  out." 

Barclay  smiled.  "You  don't  frighten  me  very 
much,"  he  said. 

"But  I'm  in  earnest,"  said  Mr.  Carteret.  "It's  time 
for  me  to  get  married.  I'm  not  the  kind  for  a  grand 
passion,  and  that's  all  in  my  favor  when  it  comes  to 
making  love.  In  fact,  my  indifference  to  women  is 
what  makes  me  so  attractive." 

"Perhaps  it  is,"  said  Barclay.  "Generally  speaking, 
I'm  indifferent  to  women  myself.  But — " 

"I'm  not  going  to  discuss  it  with  you,"  said  Mr. 
Carteret  interrupting.  "I'm  going  to  propose  to  Mary 
Granvil." 

He  examined  the  broken  collar-bone,  sent  a  servant 
to  telephone  for  the  doctor,  and  left  the  room.  "Now," 
he  said  to  himself,  "I've  got  to  go  to  Lady  Withers 
and  unszYt  Barclay."  And  he  went  back  to  the  library 
where  they  were  still  having  tea. 

It  was  Lady  Withers's  dummy,  and  the  cards  being 
excessively  bad,  she  had  risen  and  was  walking  about 
the  room. 


44  HOW     MR.     CARTERET     PROPOSED 

As  Mr.  Carteret  entered,  she  glanced  at  him  coldly  j 
but  as  he  continued  to  approach,  she  held  her  ground. 

"I  have  just  had  an  idea,"  he  began  with  an  air  of 
mystery. 

"How  very  interesting!"  observed  Lady  Withers. 
She  neither  beamed  nor  gleamed  nor  radiated. 

"Yes,"  he  went  on,  "it  suddenly  dawned  upon  me 
that  what  you  really  wanted  was  that  Cecil  should 
have  something  to  do." 

"Really?"  said  Lady  Withers. 

"Exactly,"  said  Carteret.  He  was  making  heavy 
weather,  but  he  kept  on.  "You  see,  my  first  idea  was 
that  you  were  merely  interested  in  bringing  American 
horses  to  England,  as  it  were,  don't  you  see,  for  the 
humor  of  the  thing — Haw!  haw!" — he  laughed 
painfully, — "and  so,  you  see,  I  took  Cecil's  very 
natural  view  of  the  matter,  that  it  would  be  a  great 
bore,  don't  you  see,  not  realizing  in  the  least  that  you 
wished  it  for  his  own  good.  Now  I  think,  if  you  are 
serious  about  it,  which  of  course  I  never  fancied,  that 
Cecil  would  be  just  the  man  to  manage  an  agency  and 
see  that  the  horses  were  broken  and  schooled  and  got 
ready  for  the  dealers  to  buy;  and  more  than  that,  I 
think  he  ought  to  have  a  large  share  of  the  profits, 
don't  you?" 

As  Mr.  Carteret  talked  on  Lady  Withers  had  ob- 


HOW     MR.     CARTERET     PROPOSED  45 

viously  melted,  though  she  had  not  yet  begun  to  beam. 
"I  must  say,"  she  said  frankly,  "that  I  do  think  he 
ought  to  have  a  large  share  of  the  profits." 

"And  I  think,"  he  continued,  "that  he  ought  to 
have  a  salary  besides." 

"It  seems  only  reasonable,"  she  replied,  "when  you 
think  of  Cecil's  influence  and  that  sort  of  thing,  to 
say  nothing  of  his  experience  v^ith  horses.  I  happen  to 
know  that  Lord  Glen  Rossmuir  got  five  thousand 
pounds  merely  for  going  upon  the  board  of  the  United 
Marmalade  and  Jam  Company,  and  he  gets  a  salary 
besides." 

"And  Cecil  is  far  abler  than  Glen  Rossmuir,"  said 
Mr.  Carteret. 

"Far,"  said  Lady  Withers. 

"And  one  more  thing,"  said  Mr.  Carteret  j  "what 
I  said  about  Barclay's  trustee  was  somewhat  mislead- 
ing, because,  don't  you  see,  the  trust  comes  to  an  end 
in  six  weeks." 

"And  then,"  said  Lady  Withers,  "do  I  understand 
that  he  will  have  control  of  his  own  fortune?" 

"Unconditionally,"  said  Mr.  Carteret.  "And  I  may 
say  that  he  is  so  awfully  rich  that  to  avoid  beggars  and 
anarchists  he  keeps  his  name  out  of  the  telephone- 
book,  which  in  New  York  is  something  like  the 
equivalent  of  being  a  duke  in  England." 


46  HOW     MR.     CARTERET     PROPOSED 

"When  will  the  first  ship-load  of  the  horses  ar- 
rive?" asked  Lady  Withers. 

Mr.  Carteret  was  taken  aback,  but  an  idea  came  to 
him.  "It  has  just  occurred  to  me,"  he  said,  "that  a 
neighbor  of  ours  in  Wyoming  is  sending  over  some 
horses  in  the  course  of  the  next  few  days.  I  could  send 
him  a  wire  and  have  him  bring  over  two  or  three  for 
samples — patterns,  you  call  them;  and  then,  if  they 
are  what  you  approve  of,  we  shall  have  a  ship-load 


come  over." 


"Excellent!"  said  Lady  Withers.  "Wire  him  at 
once,  and  you  also  had  better  wire  your  manager,  so 
that  there  may  be  no  delay." 

"I  will,"  said  Mr.  Carteret.  "And,  by  the  way," 
he  added,  "if  Cecil  should  need  an  assistant,  do  you 
think  Captain  Brinton  would  do?" 

Lady  Withers  thought  a  moment,  and  looked 
doubtful.  "He's  a  nice  boy,"  she  said,  "and  without 
a  penny;  but  he's  so  mad  about  Christina  Dalrymple 
that  he  would  be  good  for  nothing  in  the  way  of  an 
assistant  to  lighten  Cecil's  duties.  He  bores  poor  dear 
Mary  nearly  to  death  confiding  his  love-affairs  to 
her." 

"Then  we  can  leave  the  position  of  assistant  mana- 
ger open,"  said  Mr.  Carteret. 

"It  would  be  better,"  said  Lady  Withers.  She  be- 


HOW     MR.     CARTERET     PROPOSED  47 

gan  to  beam  again.  "In  fact,  I  have  another  nephew; 
but  I  must  play,"  she  added,  and  went  back  to  the 
card-table.  "Cecil,"  she  observed,  before  the  hand  be- 
gan, "there  will  be  some  of  Mr.  Barclay's  horses  de- 
livered at  the  Hall  in  a  fortnight  from  now.  Will  you 
make  your  plans  to  be  there  for  a  few  days?" 

The  Hon.  Cecil  was  dealing,  but  he  stopped.  "I  tell 
you  it's  all  rubbish,  these  American  horses,"  he  said 
petulantly.  "And  besides,  they  buck  like  devils.  It's  an 
awful  bore." 

"Not  any  more  than  any  young  thoroughbred  horses 
might  buck,"  said  Mr.  Carteret.  "They  may  kick  and 
play,  but  it's  nothing." 

"Cecil  is  only  joking  about  the  bucking,"  said  a 
soft  voice  from  the  chimney-corner.  It  was  Lady 
Mary.  "Cecil  can  ride  anything  that  was  ever  sad- 
dled," she  added. 

"Still,  it  is  a  bore,"  said  the  Hon.  Cecil,  only  partly 
mollified  by  the  sisterly  compliment. 

"One  word,"  said  Mr.  Carteret  in  an  undertone  to 
Cecil.  "Please  tell  Lady  Withers  that  I'm  going  to 
buy  that  horse  your  sister  was  riding." 

"Good  horse,"  said  the  Hon.  Cecil,  and  he  went  on 
with  his  dealing. 

Mr.  Carteret  did  not  add  that  he  was  going  to  have 
him  shot  and  fed  to  the  hounds.  Instead,  he  went  back 


48  HOW     MR.     CARTERET     PROPOSED 

to  the  fireplace,  where  the  gray  eyes  were  gleaming  in 
the  firelight. 

"You  mustn't  keep  Mr.  Carteret  from  cabling," 
Lady  Withers  called  from  the  bridge-table  j  "and 
while  I  think  of  it,"  she  added,  "won't  you  and  Mr. 
Barclay  come  to  Crumpeton  for  a  week  as  soon  as  the 
horses  arrive?  I  shall  write  you.  Do  you  think  that 
Mr.  Barclay  will  be  able  to  come? " 

"I  think  it  probable,"  said  Mr.  Carteret. 

The  firelight  suddenly  ceased  to  gleam  upon  the 
gray  eyes.  They  were  turned  toward  the  floor. 

"That  is  very  nice,"  said  Lady  Withers,  arranging 
her  cards  j  "but  you  mustn't  let  me  detain  you.  You 
know  they  might  just  miss  a  steamer." 

"I'm  off,"  said  Mr.  Carteret,  and  he  left  the  room. 

The  party  at  Mrs.  Ascott-Smith's  dispersed  next 
day.  Mr.  Carteret  went  back  to  his  own  house,  which 
he  had  done  over  in  the  American  manner,  to  get 
warm,  and  to  have  a  bath  in  a  porcelain  tub.  Barclay 
returned  with  him  to  nurse  his  collar-bone.  As  he  was 
unable  to  hunt,  he  went  to  the  meets  in  a  motor,  and 
watched  for  the  slim  little  figure  in  the  weather- 
beaten  habit.  What  he  saw  neither  cheered  nor  re- 
assured him. 

"It  is  very  natural,"  he  said  gloomily  to  Mr.  Car- 
teret, "but  there  are  at  least  a  dozen  men  after  her. 


HOW     MR.     CARTERET     PROPOSED  49 

Besides  Sikes,  there  were  four  guardsmen  who  rode  to 
cover  with  her,  and  then  old  Lord  Watermere  butted 
in.  He's  looking  for  a  third  wife.  You  know  yourself 
that  when  a  man  pays  any  attention  to  a  woman  out 
hunting  it's  because  he  likes  her." 

"I  don't  know  what  their  intentions  are,"  said  Mr. 
Carteret;  "but  as  far  as  I  am  concerned,  you  have 
three  weeks  less  one  day  in  which  to  propose  to  her. 
I  want  to  do  the  fair  thing,"  he  continued,  "and  I 
advise  you  that  the  psychological  moment  would  be 
while  the  collar-bone  is  a  novelty.  There  is  an  Ameri- 
can buggy  in  the  stable,  and  an  American  trotting 
horse  that  drives  with  one  hand.  Verb  saf?^ 

"But  it  isn't  done  in  England,"  said  Barclay. 

"Buggy-riding,"  said  Mr.  Carteret,  "or  its  equiva- 
lent, is  done  wherever  there  is  a  man  of  spirit  and  a 
young  lady  with  intuitions.  The  trouble  with  you,"  he 
went  on,  "is  that  you  are  too  modest  on  the  one  hand 
and  too  self-important  on  the  other.  If  you  are  not 
good  enough  for  the  girl,  you  needn't  fear  that  Lady 
Withers  will  give  you  the  preference  over  Sikes.  This 
is  the  last  advice  I'm  going  to  give.  Henceforth  I  act 
on  my  own  account." 

Barclay  smiled  doubtfully,  but  said  nothing. 

"I  mean  it,"  said  Mr.  Carteret. 

That   afternoon   at   tea   a   telegram  arrived   from 


50  HOW     MR.     CARTERET     PROPOSED 

which  Barclay  gathered  that  his  mother  was  in  Paris, 
afflicted  with  a  maid  with  chicken-pox,  and  that  she 
was  frantic  with  the  sanitary  regulations  of  the  French 
government. 

"Couldn't  I  go?"  said  Mr.  Carteret. 

"No,"  said  Barclay,  "there  are  twenty-eight  words 
in  this  dispatch.  It  is  a  hurry-call  for  me."  He  took 
the  night  train. 

Three  weeks  later  he  came  back.  He  arrived  late  in 
the  afternoon  and  found  his  host  before  the  fire  look- 
ing thoughtfully  at  a  note  which  he  held  in  his  hand. 
"I'm  glad  to  see  you  back,"  said  Mr.  Carteret.  "Have 
you  proposed  to  Mary  Granvil?" 

"I?"  said  Barclay.  "No.  How  could  I  in  Paris? 
Why?"  There  was  an  anxiety  in  his  manner  which 
suggested  that  he  was  not  as  resigned  as  he  said  he 
was. 

"If  you  haven't  been  bungling,"  said  Mr.  Carteret, 
"blessed  if  I  know  what  has  happened." 

"Is  it  announced?"  asked  Barclay.  "Is  it  Sikes?" 

"Read  Lady  Withers's  note,"  said  Mr.  Carteret. 

Barclay  took  the  note  and  read: 

Dear  Mr.  Carteret: 

You  will  doubtless  not  be  surprised  at  my  request 
that  you  remove  your  horses  at  once  from  my  stables. 


HOW     MR.     CARTERET     PROPOSED  51 

It  is  a  disappointment  to  me  that  an  unforeseen  change 
in  my  plans  makes  it  impossible  for  me  to  have  you 
and  Mr.  Barclay  at  Crumpeton  this  week. 

Sincerely  yours, 

CONSTANTIA  GrANVIL  WiTHERS. 

"It's  Sikes,"  said  Barclay. 

"It  may  be,"  said  Mr.  Carteret.  "I  ought  to  have 
taken  the  matter  into  my  own  hands  a  week  ago." 

"You  don't  mean  you  are  in  earnest?"  said  Barclay. 

"You  will  very  soon  find  out,"  said  Mr.  Carteret. 
"I  have  no  false  delicacy  about  proposing  to  a  lady 
merely  because  I'm  not  sure  she's  in  love  with  me." 

At  ten  o'clock  the  next  morning  he  and  Barclay 
were  sitting  in  the  motor  in  front  of  Crumpeton,  while 
a  footman  explained  that  the  ladies  were  at  the  stables 
and  Major  Hammerslea  was  with  them.  Mr.  Car- 
teret told  the  chauffeur  to  go  to  the  stables,  and 
there  they  got  out.  Standing  saddled  on  the  floor  of  an 
open  box-stall  was  a  showy-looking  chestnut  thorough- 
bred horse.  As  was  only  natural,  the  occupants  of  the 
motor  stopped  to  examine  him,  and  Mr.  Carteret 
gave  an  exclamation  of  surprise.  "If  I  am  not  mis- 
taken," he  said,  "that  is  one  of  our  Prince  Royal 
colts."  He  looked  carefully  at  the  inside  of  the  fore- 
leg just  below  the  armpit,  and  found  a  small  brand. 


52         HOW     MR.     CARTERET     PROPOSED 

"It  is/'  he  announced.  "By  Jove!  he  is  a  good 
looker!" 

While  he  was  doing  this,  Lady  Withers's  stud 
groom,  Tripp,  came  out  and  touched  his  cap.  "  'E's  a 
nice  one,  sir,"  said  Tripp. 

"He  is,"  said  Mr.  Carteret.  "Is  the  other  one  as 
good.?" 

"Other  one,  sir.? "  said  Tripp.  "Wot  other.? " 

"The  other  American  horse  that  came  with  him," 
said  Mr.  Carteret. 

"This  one  only  come  'alf  an  hour  ago,"  said  Tripp. 
"  'E's  Major  Hammerslea's  'oss.  'E  bought  'im  last 
week  at  Tattersalls." 

"You  must  be  mistaken,  Tripp,"  said  Barclay;  "this 
is  one  of  the  horses  that  we  had  sent  out  to  Mr.  Cecil." 

"Beggin'  your  pardon,  sir,"  said  Tripp;  "this  is  not 
one  of  the  'osses  sent  out  to  Mr.  Cecil;  this  is  Major 
Hammerslea's  'oss.  The  hanimals  that  arrived  from 
America  are  in  the  lower  stables." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Mr.  Carteret;  and  they  passed 
on  in  the  direction  indicated  by  Tripp.  "There  is  no 
use  wasting  breath  on  that  blockhead,"  he  said  to 
Barclay. 

In  the  court  of  the  lower  stables  they  came  upon 
Lady  Withers  and  the  Major  inspecting  some  two- 
year-olds. 


HOW     MR.     CARTERET     PROPOSED  53 

"Good  morning,"  said  Mr.  Carteret.  "I  gathered 
from  your  note  that  you  are  dissatisfied  with  the 
horses.  Would  it  be  too  much  to  tell  me  why?" 

"It  was  my  idea,"  said  Lady  Withers  coldly,  "that 
Cecil  should  undertake  the  management  of  a  horse 
agency,  not  a  zoo." 

"I  am  still  in  the  dark,"  said  Mr.  Carteret,  "but 
you  speak  as  if  they  had  given  you  some  trouble." 

"My  dear  fellow,"  said  the  Major,  "it  has  turned 
out  precisely  as  I  said  it  would." 

"But  it  can't  be  anything  very  serious,"  said  Mr. 
Carteret. 

"Oh,  no — it  is  nothing  serious,"  said  Lady  Withers, 
"to  have  two  grooms  in  the  hospital  with  fractured 
limbs,  and  to  have  no  insurance  upon  them,  to  have 
Cecil  bitten  in  the  shoulder,  to  have  my  breaking 
harness  torn  to  pieces  and  Tripp  giving  me  notice.  No 
one  would  consider  that  serious." 

"There  must  be  some  mistake  about  this,"  said  Mr. 
Carteret  blankly.  "As  I  told  you,  these  horses  were 
apt  to  buck  playfully,  but,  if  properly  handled,  would 
cause  no  trouble." 

"It  may  be  playfulness,"  said  Lady  Withers  j  "I 
saw  one  of  them  buck  the  saddle  over  his  forelegs  and 
head." 

"That  is  a  fact,"  said  the  Major.  "I  had  read  of 


54         HOW     MR.     CARTERET     PROPOSED 

such   a  thing,   but  had  never  believed  it   possible." 

"It  is  possible,"  said  Mr.  Carteret,  "but  not  w^ith 
our  horses." 

"My  dear  sir,"  said  the  Major,  "as  I  was  saying  to 
Lady  Withers,  your  horses  may  be  very  good  horses 
in  their  own  place  in  America,  but  they  are  not  at  all 
according  to  English  ideas." 

"At  the  same  time,"  observed  Mr.  Carteret  with 
some  heat,  "I  noticed  that  you  are  riding  one  of 
them." 

The  Major  looked  at  him  in  amazement.  "I  ride 
an  American  horse!  What  do  you  mean,  sir.?"  he  de- 
manded. 

"The  chestnut  horse,"  began  Mr.  Carteret,  with  a 
gesture  toward  the  upper  stable. 

"The  chestnut  horse,"  said  the  Major,  "I  bought 
at  Tattersalls  three  days  ago.  I  know  nothing  about 
him  except  that  he  was  quite  the  image  of  Prince 
Royal,  a  great  sire  that  I  once  owned." 

"That  is  hardly  surprising,"  said  Mr.  Carteret; 
"Prince  Royal  is  his  father.  Fm  certain  about  it  be- 
cause he's  marked  with  our  Prince  Royal  brand." 

The  Major  and  Lady  Withers  looked  at  Mr.  Car- 
teret, and  then  at  each  other.  Their  eyes  seemed  to 
say,  "We  must  humor  this  person  until  attendants 
from  the  madhouse  can  be  brought  to  secure  him." 


HOW     MR.     CARTERET     PROPOSED  ^^ 

"Perhaps,"  said  Lady  Withers,  "you  would  care  to 
see  your  horses." 

"I  should  like  to  see  the  other  one,"  he  answered 
stubbornly,  and  they  went  into  the  stable. 

Lady  Withers  paused  before  a  box-stall  which  was 
boarded  up  to  the  ceiling.  She  cautiously  opened  the 
upper  half  of  the  door,  and  peered  through  the  grat- 
ing. Inside  was  a  strange,  thick-shouldered,  goose- 
rumped,  lop-eared  brown  creature  covered  with  shag- 
gy wool.  It  stood  on  three  legs,  and  carried  its  head 
low  like  a  member  of  the  cat  family. 

"To  me,"  said  Lady  Withers,  "it  looks  like  a  bear; 
but  I  am  assured  that  it  is  a  horse.  I  would  advise  you 
not  to  go  near  it.  This  is  the  one  that  bit  dear  Cecil." 

The  two  Americans  gazed  in  amazement. 

"A  charming  type  of  hunter!"  observed  Lady 
Withers. 

Mr.  Carteret  made  no  reply.  He  was  trying  to 
think  it  out,  but  was  making  no  headway.  While  thus 
engaged  his  eyes  wandered  down  the  stable  passage, 
and  he  saw  one  of  his  own  grooms  approaching.  Al- 
most anything  was  pleasanter  than  contemplating  the 
creature  in  the  box-stall,  so  he  watched  the  man  ap- 
proach. "I  beg  pardon,  sir,"  said  the  man,  "but  the 
butler  sent  me  to  find  you,  sir,  with  a  telegram  that 
came  just  after  you  had  left." 


56  HOW     MR.     CARTERET     PROPOSED 

Mr.  Carteret  tore  open  the  envelope  and  read  the 
message,  which  was  a  long  one.  As  he  finished  a  slight 
sigh  escaped  him.  "This  may  interest  the  Major,"  he 
observed,  "and  possibly  explain  various  things."  He 
handed  the  despatch  to  Lady  Withers,  who  opened  her 
lorgnette  and  began  to  read  it  to  the  Major. 

Police  have  Jim  Siddons,  one  of  our  horse  foremen. 
Has  been  drunk  for  week.  Confesses  he  sold  your 
horses  at  auction,  but  don't  know  where.  Believes  he 
shipped  you  two  outlaws.  "Smallpox,"  brand,  "arrow 
V,"  and  "Hospital,"  brand,  "bar  O."  Hospital  danger- 
ous horse.  Killed  three  men.  Look  out.  Very  sorry. 

Reilly. 

"Who  is  Reilly.?"  asked  Lady  Withers. 

"Reilly,"  said  Mr.  Carteret,  "is  the  horse  superin- 
tendent of  Buffalo  Bill's  show.  You  see  Buffalo  Bill 
is  the  neighbor  to  whom  I  cabled." 

"Then — "  began  Lady  Withers,  but  the  Major 
interrupted  her. 

"Does  this  mean,"  he  demanded,  "that  I  have 
bought  a  stolen  horse?" 

"It  means,"  said  Mr.  Carteret,  "that  if  you  will 
accept  an  American  horse  from  Mr.  Barclay  and  my- 
self, we  shall  be  very  much  flattered." 


HOW     MR.     CARTERET     PROPOSED  57 

"Really, — "  said  the  Major.  He  began  to  enter 
upon  one  of  his  discourses,  but  stopped  as  he  saw  that 
neither  Mr.  Carteret  nor  Barclay  was  listening.  In- 
stead, they  were  trying  to  make  out  the  brand  on  the 
creature  in  the  box-stall. 

"I  can  see  the  end  of  the  arrow,"  said  Mr.  Car- 
teret. "This  is  Smallpox.  Where  is  the  bad  one — 
Hospital?" 

"Where  is  the  other  one? "  asked  Lady  Withers  of  a 
stable-boy. 

"In  the  back  stable  yard,  your  Ladyship,"  said  the 
boy.  "Lady  Mary  is  riding  him." 

Each  one  of  the  four  looked  at  the  other  speechless 
with  horror. 

"Lady  Mary!"  gasped  the  Major. 

Mr.  Carteret  and  Barclay  started  for  the  back  stable 
yard,  but  Barclay  got  there  first.  As  he  was  opening  the 
gate,  Mr.  Carteret  caught  up.  "Keep  your  head,"  he 
observed.  There  were  sounds  of  hoofbeats,  exclama- 
tions from  grooms  and  other  indications  of  battle. 
They  went  in  and  saw  Lady  Mary  sitting  on  the  back 
of  a  creature  rather  more  hairy  and  unpleasant-looking 
than  Smallpox.  Her  face  was  pink  with  exertion,  but 
otherwise  she  looked  as  neat,  unruffled,  and  slim  as  she 
always  did  in  the  saddle.  Hospital  had  paused,  panting, 
and  was  trying  to  look  at  her  out  of  the  back  of  his 


58         HOW     MR.     CARTERET     PROPOSED 

eyes  in  sour  wonder.  He  was  not  defeated.  He  was 
merely  surprised  that  his  preliminary  exhibition  had 
not  left  him  alone  with  the  saddle.  When  there  was 
only  the  saddle  to  get  rid  of  he  usually  got  down  to 
business  and  "bucked  some,"  as  they  say  in  Western 
regions. 

Lady  Mary  nodded  as  they  entered,  and  her  lips 
parted  in  a  little  smile. 

"Good  morning,"  said  Mr.  Carteret.  He  saw  that 
the  situation  was  serious  and  fraught  with  difficulties. 
And  there  was  no  time  to  be  lost.  "I've  something  ex- 
tremely important  to  tell  you,"  he  said  in  a  matter-of- 
fact  tone.  "Will  you  be  good  enough  to  get  your  leg 
well  clear  of  the  pommel  and  slip  off  that  horse? " 

"Well,  really,"  said  the  girl,  laughing,  "it  is  so  un- 
pleasant getting  on  that  I  should  rather  you  told  me 
as  I  am." 

"I  will  explain  afterward,"  said  Mr.  Carteret,  "but 
you  would  oblige  me  very  much  by  slipping  off  that 
horse  immediately." 

The  girl  looked  at  him.  "I  see  through  you,"  she 
said,  "you  are  afraid  I'll  get  bucked  off." 

"It  would  be  no  disgrace,"  he  answered;  "you  are 
not  sitting  on  a  horse,  but  on  an  explosion." 

"It  would  be  a  disgrace  to  get  off  because  you  were 
afraid,"  said  the  girl.  "Besides,"  she  continued  in  a 


HOW     MR.     CARTERET     PROPOSED  59 

lower  voice,  "Pm  very  sorry  for  the  way  in  which  my 
aunt  and  Cecil  have  acted  in  this  matter.  You  warned 
them  that  the  horses  might  buck  playfully.  You  know 
the  Granvils  are  supposed  to  ride."  She  broke  off  and 
spoke  to  the  horse,  for  Hospital  had  satisfied  his  curi- 
osity as  to  the  newcomers,  and  was  walking  sidewise, 
deciding  whether  he  would  buck  some  more  or  roll 
over. 

Barclay  started  for  the  brute's  head,  but  his  good 
arm  was  seized  and  he  was  thrust  back.  "My  dear 
girl,"  said  Mr.  Carteret,  going  a  step  closer,  "if  you 
have  any  feelings  of  humanity," — he  looked  very 
grave,  but  there  was  a  smile  in  his  eyes,  and  he  spoke 
in  a  low  voice,  which  nevertheless  was  plainly  audible 
to  Barclay, — "I  say,  if  you  have  any  feelings  of  hu- 
manity," he  repeated,  "or  any  sense  of  the  fitness  of 
things,  get  ofi^  that  horse  at  once.  Here  is  a  young  man 
with  a  bad  arm  and  something  extremely  important  on 
his  mind  that  is  for  your  ear  alone,  and  he'll  unques- 
tionably get  killed  if  he  goes  near  enough  that  horse  to 
tell  you  about  it.  Be  a  good  girl,"  he  added  in  a  whisper, 
"and  be  kind  to  him.  Perhaps  he's  worth  it."  A  quick 
flush  came  into  the  girl's  face.  And  Mr.  Carteret, 
without  glancing  back,  hurried  out  of  the  paddock. 

Just  outside  the  gate  he  ran  into  Lady  Withers,  the 
Major,  and  Mr.  Tappingwell-Sikes,  who  had  just  ar- 


60         HOW     MR.     CARTERET     PROPOSED 

rived.  They  had  been  following  as  fast  as  they  could. 

"What  has  happened?"  demanded  the  Major, 
much  out  of  breath. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Mr.  Carteret  5  "but  we'll  all 
know  in  a  few  minutes." 

Lady  Withers  looked  at  him  in  amazement,  and 
tried  to  brush  pastj  but  he  barred  the  way.  "There  is 
nothing  you  can  do,"  he  said.  "If  she  chooses  to  stay  on 
Hospital,  it's  too  late  to  get  her  off  without  a  breeches- 
buoy.  If  she  got  down,  these  are  moments  when  she 
mustn't  be  interrupted." 

"Are  you  mad? "  said  Lady  Withers,  "or  am  I? " 

"Neither  of  us  is  mad,"  said  Mr.  Carteret,  "but  I 
have  just  proposed  to  Lady  Mary,  and  I  am  anxious  to 
see  what  she  is  going  to  do  about  it." 

Lady  Withers's  mouth  half  opened  in  astonishment. 

"You  have  proposed!"  she  exclaimed,  but  that  was 
all.  She  looked  at  Mr.  Tappingwell-Sikes,  and  then 
again  at  Mr.  Carteret. 

"Perhaps,"  said  the  Major,  "it  would  be  well  for 
Mr.  Sikes  and  me  to  withdraw." 

"Your  presence  is  very  agreeable  at  all  times,"  said 
Mr.  Carteret  j  "but  really  there  is  nothing  that  you 
can  do."  The  Major  and  Mr.  Tappingwell-Sikes 
withdrew. 

"But  I  didn't  know  that  you  were  interested  in 


HOW     MR.     CARTERET     PROPOSED  6l 

Mary,"  said  Lady  Withers,  coming  to  her  senses. 
"Perhaps  I  had  better  have  a  word  with  her.  The  dear 
child  is  so  young  that  she  may  not  know  her  own 
mind." 

"I  think  she  does  by  this  time,"  he  replied.  The 
gate  opened,  and  Barclay  and  Mary  Granvil  stood  in 
the  gateway.  "I'm  rather  sure  of  it,"  he  added.  "You 
can  see  for  yourself." 

"But — "  said  Lady  Withers,  looking  accusingly  at 
Mr.  Carteret.  She  was  fairly  dumbfounded. 

"It  was  I  that  proposed,"  said  Mr.  Carteret,  "but 
the  beneficiary  is  apparently  Barclay." 

"It  is,"  said  Barclay. 

All  Lady  Withers  could  do  was  to  gasp  hysterically, 
"How  very  American!" 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Mr.  Carteret.  "The  vicarious 
proposal  is  essentially  European.  I  think,"  he  added, 
"all  that  remains  for  you  to  do  is  to  confer  your  bless- 
ing." 

As  Lady  Withers  gazed  at  her  niece  she  saw  in  those 
gray  Granvil  eyes  the  magical  light  that  is  so  sad  to 
those  that  are  without  it,  and  she  saw  in  her  face  the 
loveliness  and  other  consequences  of  being  sweet.  The 
ghosts  of  what  she  herself  might  have  had  and  what 
she  herself  might  have  been  thronged  back  to  her.  Her 
hard,  world-scarred  heart  trembled  j  tears  stood  in  her 


62         HOW    MR.     CARTERET    PROPOSED 

eyes,  and  without  speaking  and  without  a  single  false 
beam  or  sparkle  she  took  the  girl  to  her  breast  and 
kissed  her. 

Mr.  Carteret  turned  away  and  followed  the  Major 
and  Tappingwell-Sikes.  There  was  something  in  his 
throat  that  he  felt  would  make  it  difficult  for  him  to 
contribute  anything  illuminating  to  the  situation. 


MR.  CARTERET'S  ADVENTURE 
WITH  A  LOCKET 


Ill 

MR.    CARTERET'S    ADVENTURE 
WITH    A    LOCKET 


MRS.  Ascott-Smith  knew  that  Mr.  Carteret 
had  been  attentive  to  Miss  Rivers,  but  she 
had  never  known  how  attentive.  She  never 
suspected  that  the  affair  had  reached  the  point  of  an 
engagement,  subsequently  broken  by  Miss  Rivers.  If 
she  had  known  the  facts,  she  would  not  have  invited 
Mr.  Carteret  to  Chilliecote  Abbey  when  Miss  Rivers 
and  Captain  Wynford  were  there. 

Yet  the  presence  of  Miss  Rivers  and  Wynford  was 
not  the  reason  that  Mr.  Carteret  gave  himself  for  de- 
clining the  invitation.  He  did  not  dread  meeting  Miss 
Rivers ;  she  was  nothing  to  him  but  a  mistake  and  an 
old  friend.  Whether  she  married  Wynford  or  some 
other  man,  it  was  the  same  to  him.  The  affair  was 
over.  He  even  had  it  in  mind  to  get  married  before 
very  long,  if  only  to  prove  it. 

He  was  in  such  a  mood  as  he  walked  down  the  pas- 
sage to  the  smoking-room  with  Mrs.  Ascott-Smith's 
note  crumpled  in  his  hand.  His  eyes  looked  straight 


66         MR.    Carteret's  adventure 

before  him  and  saw  nothing.  Behind  him  there  fol- 
lowed the  soft,  whispering  tread  of  cushioned  feet,  and 
that  he  did  not  hear.  Perhaps  it  was  not  because  he  was 
absorbed  that  he  did  not  hear  it,  for  it  was  always  fol- 
lowing him,  and  he  had  ceased  to  note  it,  as  one  ceases 
to  note  the  clock  ticking.  But  as  he  sat  down,  he  felt 
the  touch  of  a  cold  nose  on  his  hand  and  one  little  lick. 
He  glanced  down,  and  looked  into  the  sad,  wistful 
eyes  of  the  wire-haired  fox  terrier.  With  this.  Pen- 
wiper dropped  gravely  upon  the  floor,  gazing  up  ador- 
ing and  mournful,  yet  content.  Mr.  Carteret  was  used 
to  this  idolatry,  as  he  was  used  to  the  patter  of  the  fol- 
lowing footsteps,  but  on  this  occasion  it  provoked  spec- 
ulation. It  occurred  to  him  to  wonder  how  in  a  just 
universe  a  devotion  like  Penwiper's  would  be  repaid. 
Then  he  wondered  if,  after  all,  it  was  a  just  universe. 
If  so,  why  should  Penwiper  have  that  look  chronically 
in  his  eyes? 

Presently  Mr.  Carteret  got  up  and  took  the  news- 
papers. He  was  annoyed  with  himself  and  annoyed 
with  Penwiper.  It  was  the  dog  that  called  up  these  dis- 
quieting ideas.  The  dog  was  irrevocably  associated 
with  Miss  Rivers.  He  had  given  her  Penwiper  as  an 
engagement  present,  and  when  the  affair  ended,  she 
had  sent  him  back.  He  ought  not  to  have  taken  him 
back.  He  felt  that  it  had  been  a  great  mistake  to  be- 


WITHALOCKET  67 

come  interested  again  in  Penwiper,  as  it  had  been  a 
great  mistake  to  become  interested  at  all  in  Miss 
Rivers.  He  continued  to  peruse  the  newspapers  till  he 
found  that  he  was  reading  a  paragraph  for  the  third 
time.  Then  he  got  up  and  went  out  to  the  stables. 

March  was  drawing  to  a  close,  and  with  it  the  hunt- 
ing season,  when  there  dawned  one  of  those  celestial 
mornings  that  are  appropriate  to  May,  but  in  England 
sometimes  appear  earlier.  It  brought  to  the  meet  five 
hundred  English  ladies  and  gentlemen,  complaining 
that  it  was  too  hot  to  hunt.  In  this  great  assemblage 
Mr.  Carteret  found  himself  riding  about,  saying 
"good  morning,''  automatically  inquiring  of  Lady 
Martingale  about  the  chestnut  mare's  leg,  parrying 
Mrs.  Cutcliffe's  willingness  to  let  him  a  house,  and 
avoiding  Captain  Coper's  anxiety  to  sell  him  a  horse. 
He  was  not  aware  that  he  was  restless  or  that  he 
threaded  his  way  through  one  group  after  another, 
acting  as  usually  he  did  not  act,  until  Major  Ham- 
merslea  asked  him  if  he  was  looking  for  his  second 
horseman.  Then  he  rode  off  by  himself,  and  stood  still. 
He  had  seen  pretty  much  everybody  that  was  out,  yet 
he  had  come  upon  none  of  the  Chilliecote  party.  How- 
ever, as  he  asked  himself  twice,  "What  was  that  to 
him?" 


68         MR.    Carteret's   adventure 

A  few  minutes  later  they  jogged  on  to  covert  and 
began  to  draw.  A  fox  went  away,  the  hounds  followed 
him  for  two  fields,  then  flashed  over  and  checked. 
After  that  they  could  make  nothing  of  it.  The  fox- 
hunting authorities  said  that  there  was  no  scent. 

At  two  o'clock  they  were  pottering  about  Tunbar- 
ton  Wood,  having  had  a  disappointing  morning.  The 
second  horsemen  came  up  with  sandwich-boxes,  and, 
scattered  in  groups  among  the  broad  rides,  people  ate 
lunch,  smoked,  enjoyed  the  sunshine,  and  grumbled  at 
the  weather,  which  made  sport  impossible.  And  then 
the  unexpected  happened,  as  in  fox-hunting  it  usually 
does.  Hounds  found  in  a  far  corner  of  the  wood,  and 
disappeared  on  a  burning  scent  before  any  one  could 
get  to  them.  Instantly  the  world  seemed  to  be  filled 
with  people  galloping  in  all  directions,  inquiring 
where  hounds  had  gone,  and  receiving  no  satisfactory 
answer.  Experience  had  taught  Mr.  Carteret  that  un- 
der such  conditions  the  most  unfortunate  thing  to  do  is 
to  follow  others  who  know  as  little  as  one's  self.  Ac- 
cordingly he  opened  a  hand  gate,  withdrew  a  few 
yards  into  a  secluded  lane,  pulled  up,  and  tried  to  think 
like  a  fox.  This  idea  had  been  suggested  by  Mr.  Kip- 
ling's Gloucester  fisherman  who  could  think  like  a 
cod.  While  he  was  thinking,  he  saw  a  great  many  peo- 
ple gallop  by  in  the  highway  in  both  directions.  He 


WITHALOCKET  69 

noted  Major  Hammerslea,  who  was  apt  to  be  conspic- 
uous when  there  was  hard  riding  on  the  road,  leading 
a  detachment  of  people  north.  He  noted  Lady  Martin- 
gale, who  liked  fences  better  than  roads,  leading  a 
charge  south.  And  following  Lady  Martingale  he 
noted  Captain  Wynford.  Apparently,  then,  the  Abbey 
people  were  out,  after  all.  "Perhaps  Mrs.  Ascott- 
Smith  will  turn  up,"  he  said  to  himself,  and  he  fol- 
lowed Wynford  with  his  eyes  until  he  was  out  of  sight, 
but  saw  neither  Mrs.  Ascott-Smith  nor  any  one  else 
who  might  have  been  under  his  escort. 

After  a  while  there  were  no  more  people  going  by 
in  either  direction.  Something  like  a  sigh  escaped  himj 
then  he  lit  a  cigarette. 

"If  I  were  the  hunted  fox,"  he  said  to  himself,  "I 
think  I  should  have  circled  over  Crumpelow  Hill,  and 
then  bent  south  with  the  idea  of  getting  to  ground  in 
Normanhurst  Wood.  I'll  take  a  try  at  it." 

He  rode  off  down  the  lane  to  the  eastward,  riding 
slowly,  for  there  was  no  hurry.  If  he  was  right,  he 
would  be  ahead  of  the  fox.  If  he  was  wrong,  he  was  so 
far  behind  that  it  made  no  difference  what  he  did.  So 
he  jogged  on  up  and  down  hill,  and  smoked.  He  rode 
thus  for  about  two  miles  when  his  hope  began  to 
wither.  On  every  side  stretched  the  winter-green,  roll- 
ing country  fenced  into  a  patchwork  of  great  pastures. 


70         MR.    Carteret's   adventure 

In  the  distance,  to  the  south,  lay  the  brown-gray  mass 
of  Normanhurst  Wood.  The  landscape  was  innocent  of 
any  gleam  of  scarlet  coat  or  black  figure  of  horseman 
on  hilltop  against  the  sky. 

"Pm  wrong,"  he  said  half  aloud.  "I  guess  I  could 
think  better  as  a  codfish  than  as  a  fox." 

A  moment  later  he  saw  fresh  hoofprints  crossing  the 
lane  in  front  of  him,  and  it  burst  upon  him  that  his 
theory  was  right,  but  that  he  was  too  late.  A  dozen 
people  must  have  crossed.  They  had  come  into  the  lane 
through  a  hand  gate,  and  had  jumped  out  over  some 
rails  that  mended  a  gap  in  the  tall,  bushy  hedge.  Be- 
side the  hoof-prints  was  the  evidence  of  a  rail  that  was 
freshly  broken.  He  contemplated  the  situation 
judicially. 

"How  far  behind  I  am,"  he  said  to  himself,  "I  do 
not  know  5  whether  these  people  are  following  hounds 
or  Lady  Martingale  I  do  not  know;  but  anything  is 
better  than  going  down  this  interminable  lane."  So  he 
put  his  horse  at  the  place  where  the  rail  was  broken. 
The  next  instant,  the  horse,  which  was  overfed  and 
under-exercised,  jumped  high  over  the  low  rail,  and 
jammed  his  hat  against  an  over-hanging  bough,  and, 
on  landing,  ran  away.  When  Mr.  Carteret  got  him  in 
hand,  they  were  well  out  into  the  field,  and  he  began 
to  look  along  the  farther  fence  for  a  place  to  jump  out. 


WITHALOCKET  7I 

In  doing  this  he  noticed  at  the  end  of  the  long  pas- 
ture a  horse  grazing,  and  it  looked  to  him  as  if  the 
horse  were  saddled.  He  glanced  around,  expecting  to 
see  an  unhappy  man  stalking  a  lost  mount,  but  there 
was  no  one  in  sight.  So  he  rode  toward  the  horse.  As  he 
came  nearer  he  saw  that  the  saddle  was  a  woman's. 
The  horse  made  no  attempt  to  run  away,  and  Mr.  Car- 
teret caught  it.  One  glance  showed  him  that  there  was 
mud  on  its  ears,  mud  on  its  rump,  and  that  one  of  the 
pommels  was  broken.  Immediately,  although  he  had 
never  seen  horse  or  saddle  before,  a  strange  and  un- 
reasonable apprehension  seized  him.  He  felt  that  it  was 
Miss  Rivers's  horse  5  and  yet  his  common  sense  told 
him  that  the  idea  was  absurd.  She  was  probably  not 
out  hunting,  and  if  she  were,  the  chances  were  a  thou- 
sand to  one  against  it  being  she.  Nevertheless,  he 
opened  the  sandwich-box  strapped  to  the  saddle  and 
took  out  the  silver  case.  It  bore  the  inscription  S.  R. 
from  C.  C.  If  he  could  believe  his  eyes,  the  thousand- 
to-one  chance  had  come  off. 

He  looked  about  him  dazed.  There  was  no  one  in 
sight. 

"It  must  have  happened  back  a  way,"  he  said  half 
aloud,  "and  the  horse  followed  the  hunt." 

Mounting,  he  led  it  by  its  bridle-reins,  and  began  to 
gallop  toward  the  place  where  the  fence  had  been 


72         MR.    Carteret's   adventure 

broken.  Approaching  the  broken  rail,  he  began  to  pull 
up  when  his  eye  caught  something  dark  upon  the  grass 
close  to  the  hedge. 

One  look,  and  he  saw  that  it  was  a  woman  and  that 
it  was  Sally  Rivers.  She  was  lying  on  her  back,  mo- 
tionless, her  white  face  looking  up,  her  arms  at  her 
side,  almost  as  if  she  were  asleep.  The  apprehensive  in- 
tuition that  had  come  to  him  at  the  sight  of  the  broken 
saddle  came  again  and  told  him  that  she  was  dead.  It 
must  be  so.  That  afternoon  they  were  in  the  grasp  of 
one  of  those  terrible  pranks  of  fate  that  are  told  as 
strange  "true  stories." 

But  she  was  not  dead.  He  realized  it  when  he  bent 
over  her  and  took  her  pulse.  It  was  reasonably  strong. 
The  injury  was  obviously  a  concussion,  for  her  hat  lay 
beside  her,  crushed  and  torn  off  by  the  fall.  Her 
breathing,  though  hardly  normal,  was  not  alarming, 
and  it  seemed  to  be  growing  deeper  and  more  peaceful 
even  as  he  watched.  There  were  indications  that  she 
would  come  to  presently.  After  all,  it  was  only  such  an 
accident  as  claims  its  daily  victim  in  the  hunting  coun- 
tries. It  was  nothing  to  be  alarmed  about.  As  the  strain 
relaxed,  he  became  aware  of  its  tensity.  He  was  limp 
now,  and  shaking  like  a  leaf,  and  then  the  question  put 
itself  to  him.  Was  this  because  he  had  found  a  woman 
that  he  believed  dead  or  because  that  woman  was  Sally 


m 

I 


<-3 


I- 

bo 


bo 


^    ^ 


-■-^ 


WITH     A     LOCKET  73 

Rivers?  There  was  only  one  honest  answer.  He  made 
it,  and  in  his  inner  heart  he  was  glad. 

Nevertheless,  he  still  protested  that  it  was  absurd, 
that  the  affair  was  over.  Even  if  there  were  no  Wyn- 
ford,  he  knew  that  she  would  never  change  her  mind; 
and  then,  there  was  Wynford.  Even  now  he  was  sitting 
beside  her  only  because  her  eyes  were  sightless,  because 
she  herself  was  away.  When  she  came  back,  it  would 
be  trespass  to  remain.  He  was  in  another's  place.  It  was 
Wynford  who  ought  to  have  found  her. 

If  he  could  have  stolen  away  he  would  have  done 
so.  But  that  being  impossible,  he  fell  to  watching  her 
as  if  she  were  not  herself,  but  a  room  that  she  had  once 
lived  in — a  room  that  he  too  had  known,  that  was  de- 
lightful with  associations  and  fragrant  with  faint 
memory-stirring  perfumes.  And  yet,  though  the  tenant 
seemed  to  be  away,  was  it  not  after  all  her  very  self 
that  was  before  him?  There  was  the  treasure  of  her 
brown  hair,  with  the  gold  light  in  it,  tumbled  in  heaps 
about  her  head  5  there  was  the  face  that  had  been  for 
him  the  loveliness  of  the  early  morning  in  gardens, 
that  had  haunted  him  in  the  summer  perfume  of 
clover-fields  and  in  the  fragrance  of  night-wrapped 
lawns.  There  was  the  slim,  rounded  figure  that  once 
had  brought  the  blood  into  his  face  as  it  brushed 
against  him.  There  were  the  hands  whose  touch  was  so 


74         MR.    Carteret's   adventure 

smooth  and  cool  and  strong.  Presently  he  found  him- 
self wiping  the  mud  from  her  cheek  as  if  he  were  en- 
acting a  ritual  over  some  holy  thing.  He  looked 
around.  No  human  being  was  in  sight.  The  afternoon 
sun  shone  mildly.  In  the  hedgerow  some  little  birds 
twittered  pleasantly,  and  sang  their  private  little  songs. 

Suddenly  she  opened  her  eyes.  She  looked  up  at 
him,  knew  him,  and  smiled. 

"Hello,  Carty,"  she  said  in  her  low,  vibrant  tones. 
A  thrill  ran  through  him.  It  was  the  way  it  used  to  be. 

"You've  had  a  bad  fall,"  he  said.  "How  do  you 
feel?" 

A  little  laugh  came  into  her  eyes.  "How  do  I 
look?"  she  murmured. 

"You're  coming  out  all  right,"  he  saidj  "but  you 
mustn't  talk  just  yet." 

"If  I  want  to,"  she  said  slowly.  Her  eyes  laughed 
again.  "If  I  want  to,  I'll  talk." 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Carteret. 

"Hear  him  boss!"  she  murmured.  She  looked  up  at 
him  for  a  moment,  and  then  her  eyes  closed.  But  it  was 
not  the  same.  The  lashes  lay  more  lightly,  and  a  tinge 
of  color  had  come  into  her  cheeks.  He  sat  and  watched 
her,  his  mind  a  confusion,  a  great  gladness  in  his  heart. 

In  a  little  while  she  opened  her  eyes  as  before. 
"Hello,  Carty,"  she  began,  but  Mr.  Carteret's  atten- 


WITH     A     LOCKET  75 

tion  was  attracted  by  the  sound  of  wheels  in  the  lane. 
He  saw  an  old  phaeton,  driven  by  a  farmer,  coming 
toward  them. 

The  man  saw  him,  and  stopped.  "Is  this  the  place 
where  a  lady  was  hurt?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Carteret.  "How  did  you  know? " 

"A  boy  told  me,"  said  the  farmer. 

"I  see,"  said  Mr.  Carteret. 

At  first  she  was  independent  and  persisted  in  walk- 
ing to  the  trap  by  herself.  But  as  they  drove  off,  she 
began  to  sway,  and  caught  herself  on  his  arm.  After  a 
moment  she  looked  at  him  helplessly  j  a  little  smile 
shone  in  her  eyes  and  curved  the  corners  of  her  mouth. 
At  the  next  jolt  her  head  settled  peacefully  upon  his 
shoulder.  Her  eyes  closed.  She  seemed  to  be  asleep. 

They  drove  on  at  a  walk,  the  led  horses  following. 
The  shadows  lengthened,  the  gold  light  of  the  after- 
noon grew  more  golden.  They  passed  through  the  an- 
cient village  of  Tibberton  and  heard  the  rooks  calling 
in  the  parsonage  trees.  They  passed  through  the  Nor- 
manhurst  Park,  under  oaks  that  may  have  sheltered 
Robin  Hood,  and  the  rooks  were  calling  there.  In  the 
silent  stretches  of  the  road  they  heard  the  first  thrushes 
and  the  evening  singing  of  the  warblers.  And  every 
living  thing,  bird,  tree,  and  grass,  bore  witness  that  it 
was  spring. 


76         MR.    Carteret's   adventure 

For  two  hours  Mr.  Carteret  hardly  breathed.  He 
was  riding  in  the  silver  bubble  of  a  dreamy  a  breath, 
and  it  might  be  gone.  At  the  Abbey,  perforce,  there 
was  an  end  of  it.  He  roused  her  quietly,  and  she  re- 
sponded. She  was  able  to  walk  up  the  steps  on  his  arm, 
and  stood  till  the  bell  was  answered.  When  he  left  her 
in  the  confusion  inside  she  gave  him  her  hand.  It  had 
the  same  cool,  smooth  touch  as  of  old,  but  its  strength 
was  gone.  It  lay  in  his  hand  passive  till  he  released  it. 
"Good  night,"  he  said,  and  hurrying  out,  he  mounted 
his  horse  and  rode  away.  He  passed  some  people  com- 
ing back  from  hunting,  and  they  seemed  vague  and 
unreal.  He  seemed  unreal  himself.  He  almost  doubted 
if  the  whole  thing  were  not  illusion  j  but  on  the  shoul- 
der of  his  scarlet  coat  clung  a  thread  that  glistened  as 
the  evening  sun  fell  upon  it,  and  a  fragrance  that  went 
into  his  blood  like  some  celestial  essence. 

When  he  got  home,  the  afterglow  was  dying  in  the 
west.  The  rooks  were  hushed,  the  night  was  already 
falling,  and  the  lamps  were  lit.  As  he  passed  through 
his  hallway,  there  came  the  touch  of  a  cold  nose  and 
the  one  little  lick  upon  his  hand.  "Get  down.  Pen- 
wiper," he  said  unthinkingly,  and  went  on. 

That  week,  before  they  let  her  see  people,  Mr.  Car- 
teret lived  in  a  world  that  had  only  its  outward  cir- 
cumstances in  the  world  where  others  lived.  He  made 


WITHALOCKET  77 

no  attempt  to  explain  it  or  to  justify  it  or  yet  to  leave 
it.  Several  of  his  friends  noticed  the  change  in  him, 
and  ascribed  it  to  the  vague  abstraction  of  biliousness. 

It  was  a  raw  Sunday  afternoon  and  he  was  standing 
before  the  fire  in  the  Abbey  library,  when  Miss  Rivers 
came  noiselessly,  unexpectedly,  in.  Mrs.  Ascott-Smith, 
who  was  playing  piquet  with  the  Major,  started  up  in 
surprise.  Miss  Rivers  had  been  ordered  not  to  leave 
her  room  till  the  next  day. 

"But  Fm  perfectly  well,"  said  the  girl;  "I  couldn't 
stand  it  any  longer.  They  wouldn't  so  much  as  tell  me 
the  day  of  the  month."  Then  for  the  first  time  she  saw 
Mr.  Carteret.  "Why,  Carty!"  she  exclaimed.  "How 
nice  it  is  to  see  you! " 

"Thank  you,"  he  answered.  Their  eyes  met,  and  he 
felt  his  heart  beating.  As  for  Miss  Rivers,  she  flushed, 
dropped  her  eyes,  and  turned  to  Mrs.  Ascott-Smith. 

"My  dear  young  lady,"  said  the  Major,  impressive- 
ly, as  he  glanced  through  his  cards,  "it  is  highly  im- 
prudent of  you  to  disobey  the  doctor.  Always  obey  the 
doctor.  I  once  knew  a  charming  young  lady — " 

"I  hope  Pm  not  rude,"  she  interrupted,  "but  I 
might  as  well  die  of  concussion  as  die  of  being  bored." 

"But  you  had  such  a  very  bad  toss,  my  dear,"  said 
Mrs.  Ascott-Smith. 

"What  one  doesn't  remember,  doesn't  trouble  one," 


78         MR.    Carteret's   adventure 

observed  the  girl.  "In  a  sense  it  hasn't  happened."  She 
paused  and  then  went  on  with  a  carelessness  that  was  a 
little  overdone:  "What  did  happen,  anyway?  The 
usual  things,  I  fancy?  I  suppose  somebody  picked  me 
up  and  brought  me  home." 

Mr.  Carteret's  face  was  a  mask. 

"But  you  remember  that ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Ascott- 
Smith. 

"I  don't  remember  anything,"  said  Miss  Rivers, 
"until  one  evening  I  woke  up  in  bed  and  heard  the 
rooks  calling  in  the  park." 

"My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Ascott-Smith,  "you  said 
good-by  to  him  in  the  hallway,  and  thanked  him,  and 
then  you  walked  up-stairs  with  a  footman  at  your 
elbow." 

"That  is  very  strange,"  said  Miss  Rivers.  "I  donH 
remember.  Who  was  it  that  I  said  good-by  to?  Whom 
did  I  thank?" 

Mr.  Carteret  walked  toward  the  window  as  if  he 
were  watching  the  pheasant  that  was  strutting  across 
the  lawn. 

Mrs.  Ascott-Smith  folded  her  cards  in  her  hand  and 
looked  at  the  girl  in  amazement.  "Mr.  Carteret  found 
you  in  a  field,"  she  said,  "not  far  from  Crumpelow 
Hill  and  brought  you  home.  You  said  good-by  to 
him." 


WITH     A     LOCKET  79 

At  the  mention  of  Mr.  Carteret's  name  the  girl's 
hand  felt  for  the  back  of  a  chair,  as  if  to  steady  herself. 
Then,  as  the  color  rushed  into  her  face,  aware  of  it,  she 
stepped  back  into  the  shadow.  Mrs.  Ascott-Smith  con- 
tinued to  gaze.  Presently  Miss  Rivers  turned  to  Mr. 
Carteret.  "This  is  a  surprise  to  me,"  she  said  in  a  voice 
like  ice.  "How  much  I  am  in  your  debt,  you  better 
than  any  one  can  understand." 

He  turned  as  if  a  blow  had  struck  him,  and  looked 
at  her.  Her  eyes  met  his  unflinchingly,  colder  than  her 
words,  withering  with  resentment  and  contempt.  Mrs. 
Ascott-Smith  opened  her  cards  again  and  began  to 
count:  "Tierce  to  the  king  and  a  point  of  five,"  she 
muttered  vaguely.  Her  mind  and  the  side  glance  of 
her  eyes  were  upon  the  girl  and  the  young  man.  What 
did  it  mean?  "A  point  of  five,"  she  repeated. 

Mr.  Carteret  hesitated  a  moment;  he  feared  to  trust 
his  voice.  Then  he  gathered  himself  and  bowed  to 
Mrs.  Ascott-Smith.  "I  have  people  coming  to  tea;  I 
must  be  off.  Good  night."  His  impulse  was  to  pass  the 
girl  with  the  formality  of  a  bow,  but  he  checked  it. 
With  an  effort  he  stopped.  "Good  night,"  he  said  and 
put  out  his  hand.  Her  eyes  met  his  without  a  glimmer 
of  expression.  She  was  looking  through  him  into 
nothing.  His  hand  dropped  to  his  side.  His  face  grew 
white.  He  went  on  and  out.  As  the  door  closed  behind 


8o         MR.    Carteret's  adventure 

him  he  heard  Mrs.  Ascott-Smith  counting  for  the 
third  time,  "Tierce  to  the  king,  and  a  point  of  five." 

He  reached  his  house.  In  his  own  hallway  he  was 
giving  orders  that  he  was  not  at  home  when  he  felt  the 
cold  nose  and  the  one  little  lick,  and  looking  down,  he 
saw  the  sad  eyes  fixed  upon  his.  He  went  down  the 
passageway  to  the  smoking-room,  and  the  patter  of 
following  feet  was  at  his  heels.  He  closed  the  door, 
dropped  into  a  chair,  gave  a  nod  of  assent,  and  Pen- 
wiper jumped  into  his  arms. 

When  he  could  think,  he  constructed  many  ex- 
planations for  the  mystery  of  her  behavior,  and  dis- 
missed them  successively  because  they  did  not  explain. 
Why  she  should  resent  so  bitterly  his  having  brought 
her  home  was  inexplicable  on  any  other  ground  than 
that  she  was  still  out  of  her  head.  He  would  insist  upon 
an  explanation,  but,  after  all,  what  difference  could  it 
make?  Whatever  reason  there  might  be,  the  important 
fact  was  that  she  had  acted  as  she  had.  That  was  the 
only  fact  which  mattered.  Her  greeting  of  him  when 
she  first  opened  her  eyes,  the  drive  home,  the  parting 
in  the  hallway,  were  all  things  that  had  never  hap- 
pened for  her.  For  him  they  were  only  dreams.  He 
must  force  them  out  into  the  dim  region  of  forgotten 
things. 

On  the  next  Tuesday  he  saw  her  at  the  meet — came 


WITH     A     LOCKET  8l 

Upon  her  squarely,  so  that  there  was  no  escaping.  She 
was  pale  and  sick-looking,  and  was  driving  herself  in  a 
pony  trap.  He  lifted  his  hat,  but  she  turned  away. 
After  he  had  ridden  by,  he  turned  back  and,  stopping 
just  behind  her,  slipped  off  his  horse.  "Sally,"  he  said, 
"I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

She  looked  around  with  a  start.  "I  should  prefer 
not,"  she  answered. 

"You  must,"  he  said.  "I  have  a  right — " 

"Do  you  talk  to  me  about  your  right?"  she  said. 
Her  gray  eyes  flashed. 

He  met  her  anger  steadily.  "I  do,"  he  replied.  "You 
can't  treat  me  in  this  way." 

"How  else  do  you  deserve  to  be  treated?"  she  de- 
manded fiercely. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  said. 

"You  know  what  I  mean,"  she  retorted.  "You  know 
what  you  did." 

"What  I  did! "  he  exclaimed.  "What  have  I  done? " 

"Why  do  you  act  this  way,  Carty?"  she  said  weari- 
ly. "Why  do  you  make  matters  worse? " 

He  looked  at  her  in  perplexity.  "Don't  you  believe 
me,"  he  said,  "when  I  tell  you  that  I  don't  know  what 
you  mean?" 

"How  can  I  believe  you,"  she  answered,  "when  I 
have  the  proof  that  you  do? " 


82         MR.    Carteret's   adventure 

"The  proof? "  he  echoed.  "What  proof? " 

His  blank  surprise  shook  her  confidence  for  an  in- 
stant. "You  know  well  enough,"  she  said.  "You  forgot 
to  put  back  the  violet." 

"The  violet?"  he  repeated.  "In  Heaven's  name 
what  are  you  talking  about? " 

She  studied  his  face.  Again  her  conviction  was 
shaken,  and  she  trembled  in  spite  of  herself.  But  she 
saw  no  other  way.  "I  can't  believe  you,"  she  said  sadly. 

He  made  no  answer,  but  a  change  came  over  his 
face.  His  patience  had  gone.  His  anger  was  kindling. 
It  began  to  frighten  her.  She  summoned  her  will  and 
made  an  effort  to  hold  her  ground.  "Will  you  swear," 
she  said — "will  you  swear  you  didn't  open  the 
locket?" 

Still  he  made  no  reply. 

"Nor  shut  it? "  she  went  on.  She  was  pleading  now. 

"Sally,"  he  said  in  a  strange  voice,  "I  neither 
opened  nor  closed  nor  saw  a  locket.  What  has  a  locket 
to  do  with  this?" 

She  looked  at  him  blankly  in  terror,  for  suddenly 
she  knew  that  he  was  speaking  the  truth.  "Then  what 
has  happened?"  she  murmured. 

"You  must  tell  that,"  he  said. 

"I  only  know  this,"  she  began:  "I  wore  a  locket  the 
day  of  the  accident.  There  was  a  pressed  flower  in  it." 


WITH     A     LOCKET  83 

The  color  began  to  rise  in  her  cheeks  again.  "When  I 
came  to,  the  flower  was  gone,  so  I  knew  the  locket  had 
been  opened." 

For  a  moment  he  was  speechless.  "And  you  treat  me 
as  you  have,"  he  cried,  "on  the  suspicion  of  my  open- 
ing this  locket!" 

She  made  no  answer. 

He  laughed  harshly.  "You  think  of  me  as  a  man 
who  would  open  your  locket!" 

Still  she  made  no  answer. 

His  voice  dropped  to  a  whisper.  "O  Sally!  Sally!" 
he  exclaimed. 

"There  are  things  on  my  side! "  she  said  protesting- 
ly  at  last.  "You  can't  understand  because  you  don't 
know  what  was  in  the  locket." 

"I  could  guess,"  he  said. 

She  went  on,  ignoring  his  remark:  "And  you  have 
no  explanation  as  to  how  it  was  opened  and  closed 
again.  What  am  I  to  think.?" 

"Sally,"  he  said  more  gently,  "isn't  it  possible  that 
the  locket  was  shaken  open  when  you  fell  and  that  the 
people  who  put  you  to  bed  closed  it? " 

"My  maid  put  me  to  bed,"  said  the  girlj  "she  says 
the  locket  when  she  saw  it  was  closed." 

"Then  perhaps  the  flower  was  lost  before,  and  you 
had  forgotten,"  he  suggested. 


84         MR.    Carteret's   adventure 

She  shook  her  head.  "No,"  she  answered,  "the  maid 
found  the  flower  when  she  undressed  me.  She  gave  it 
to  me  when  I  came  to.  That  is  how  my  attention  was 
called  to  it." 

"Then  strange  as  it  seems,"  he  said  calmly,  "the 
thing  must  have  jarred  open,  the  flower  dropped  out, 
and  the  locket  shut  again  of  itself.  There  is  no  other 
way." 

"Perhaps,"  she  said. 

"Perhaps!"  he  repeated.  "What  other  way  could 
there  have  been?" 

"There  couldn't  have  been  any  other  way,"  she 
assented,  "if  you  say  you  didn't  see  it  when  you 
loosened  my  habit." 

He  looked  at  her  in  amazement.  "Loosened  your 
habit?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  she  saidj  "you  loosened  my  habit  when  I 
was  hurt." 

"No,"  he  answered. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say,"  she  demanded,  "that  you 
didn't  loosen  and  cut  things?" 

"Most  certainly  not,"  he  replied. 

"But,  Carty,"  she  exclaimed,  "some  one  did!  Who 
was  it?" 

Just  then  Lady  Martingale  rode  up  to  inquire  how 
Miss  Rivers  was  recovering,  and  Mr.  Carteret  mount- 


WITH     A     LOCKET  85 

ed  and  rode  away.  The  hounds  were  starting  off  to 
draw  Brinkwater  gorse,  but  he  rode  in  the  opposite 
direction  toward  Crumpelow  Hill.  There  he  found 
the  farmer  who  had  brought  them  home.  Through 
him  he  found  the  boy  who  had  summoned  the  farmer, 
and  from  the  boy,  as  he  had  hoped,  he  discovered  a 
clew.  And  then  he  fell  to  wondering  why  he  was  so 
bent  upon  clearing  the  matter  up.  At  most  it  could 
only  put  him  where  he  was  before  the  day  of  the  acci- 
dent. It  could  not  make  that  drive  home  real  or  make 
what  she  had  said  that  afternoon  her  utterance.  She 
would  acquit  him  of  prying  into  her  affairs,  but  beyond 
that  there  was  nothing  to  hope.  Everything  that  he  had 
recently  learned  strengthened  his  conviction  that  she 
was  going  to  marry  Wynford.  It  was  a  certainty. 
Nevertheless,  from  Crumpelow  Hill  he  rode  toward 
the  Abbey. 

It  was  nearly  four  o'clock  when  Miss  Rivers  came 
in.  He  rose  and  bowed  with  a  playful,  exaggerated 
ceremony.  "I  have  come,"  he  began,  in  a  studiedly 
light  key,  "because  I  have  solved  the  mystery." 

"I  am  glad  you  have  come,"  she  said. 

"It  is  simple,"  he  went  on.  "Another  man  picked 
you  up,  and  put  you  where  I  found  you.  Your  breath- 
ing must  have  been  bad,  and  he  loosened  your  clothes. 
Probably  the  locket  had  flown  open  and  he  shut  it. 


86         MR.    Carteret's  adventure 

Then  he  went  after  a  trap.  Why  he  did  not  come  back, 
I  don't  know." 

"But  I  do,"  said  Miss  Rivers. 

He  looked  at  her  warily,  suspecting  a  trap  for  the 
man's  name.  He  preferred  not  to  mention  that. 

"I  know,"  she  went  on,  "because  he  has  told  me. 
He  did  come  back  part  way — till  he  saw  that  you  were 
with  me." 

Mr.  Carteret  looked  at  her  in  surprise. 

"More  than  that,"  she  went  on,  "the  locket  had 
jarred  open  and  he  saw  what  was  in  it  and  closed  it. 
Perhaps  that  was  why  he  went  away.  Anyway,  after 
thinking  about  it,  he  decided  that  it  was  best  to  tell 
me.  If  he  had  only  done  so  before!" 

"I  see,"  said  Mr.  Carteret.  He  did  not  see  at  all,  but 
it  was  a  matter  about  which  he  felt  that  he  could  not 
ask  questions. 

"You  know,"  she  said,  after  a  pause,  "that  the  man 
was  Captain  Wynford." 

"Yes,"  he  answered  shortly.  His  tone  changed. 
"Wynford  is  a  good  man — a  good  man,"  he  said  awk- 
wardly. "I  can  congratulate  you  both  honestly."  He 
paused.  "Well,  I  must  go,"  he  went  on.  "I'm  glad 
things  are  right  again  all  round.  Good-by."  He  crossed 
to  the  door,  and  she  stood  watching  him.  She  had 
grown  very  pale. 


WITH     A     LOCKET  87 

"Carty,"  she  said  suddenly,  in  a  dry  voice,  "Fm  not 
acting  well." 

He  looked  back  perplexed,  but  in  a  moment  he  un- 
derstood. She  evidently  felt  that  she  ought  to  tell  him 
outright  that  she  was  going  to  marry  Wynford. 

"In  treating  you  as  I  did,"  she  finished,  "in  judging 
you — " 

"You  were  hasty,"  he  said,  "but  I  can  understand." 

She  shook  her  head.  "You  can't  understand  if  you 
think  that  there  was  only  a  flower  in  the  locket." 

"Perhaps  I  have  guessed  already  that  there  was  a 
picture,"  he  said,  "a  picture  that  was  not  for  my  eyes." 

She  looked  at  him  gravely.  "No,"  she  said,  "you 
haven't  guessed.  I  don't  think  you've  guessed;  and 
when  I  think  how  I  misjudged  you,  how  harsh  I  was, 
I  want  you  to  see  it.  It  is  almost  your  right  to  see  it." 
Her  hand  went  to  her  throat,  but  he  shook  his  head. 

"It  pleases  me,"  he  said,  "to  be  made  a  confidant, 
but  I  take  the  will  for  the  deed.  If  there  is  anything 
more  you  might  wish  that  I  should  say,  imagine  that 
I  have  said  it — congratulations,  good  wishes,  and  that 
sort  of  thing;  you  understand." 

He  had  reached  the  door,  but  again  she  called  him 
back.  She  paused,  with  her  hand  on  the  piano,  and 
struggled  for  her  words.  "Carty,"  she  said,  "once  I 
told  you  that  it  was  all  off,  that  I  never  could  marry 


88         MR.    Carteret's   adventure 

you — that  I  should  never  marry  any  one.  You're  glad 
now,  aren't  you?  You  see  it  is  best?" 

"Would  it  make  you  happier  if  I  said  so?"  he 
replied. 

"I  want  to  know  the  truth,"  she  said. 

"I  am  afraid  the  truth  would  only  hurt  you,"  he 
answered. 

"I  want  the  truth,"  she  said  again. 

"It  is  soon  told,"  he  saidj  "there  is  nothing  new  to 
tell." 

"What  do  you  mean? "  she  whispered. 

"Isn't  it  clear?"  he  answered.  "Do  you  want  to 
bring  up  the  past?" 

"You  love  me?"  she  asked.  He  could  hardly  hear, 
her  voice  trembled  so. 

He  made  no  answer,  but  bowed  his  head. 

When  she  saw,  she  turned,  and,  throwing  her  arms 
along  the  piano,  hid  her  face,  and  in  a  moment  he 
heard  her  crying  softly. 

He  paused  uncertainly,  then  he  went  to  her. 
"Sally,"  he  said. 

She  lifted  her  head.  She  was  crying  still,  but  with  a 
great  light  of  happiness  in  her  face.  "There  is  no  Cap- 
tain Wynford,"  she  sobbed.  "If  you  had  looked  in  the 
locket — "  A  laugh  flashed  in  her  eyes. 

And  then  he  understood. 


WITH     A    LOCKET  89 

They  were  standing  close  together  in  the  mullioned 
window  where  three  hundred  years  before  a  man 
standing  on  the  lawn  outside  had  scrawled  with  a  dia- 
mond on  one  of  the  little  panes: 

If  woman  seen  thro'  crystal  did  appere 
One  half  so  loving  as  her  face  is  fair 

And  a  woman  standing  inside  had  written  the  an- 
swering lines: 

Were  woman  seen  thro',  as  the  crystal  pane, 
Then  some  might  ask,  nor  long  time  ask  in — 

The  rhyme  word  was  indicated  by  a  dash,  but 
neither  the  tracings  of  these  dead  hands,  nor  the  an- 
cient lawns,  nor  the  oaks  that  had  been  witness,  did 
these  two  see.  When  many  things  had  been  said,  she 
opened  the  locket. 

"You  must  look  now." 

"I  will,"  he  said.  As  he  looked,  his  eyes  grew  misty. 
"Both  of  us?"  he  whispered. 

"Both  of  you!"  she  answered.  And  it  was  so,  for  in 
the  corner  of  the  picture  was  Penwiper. 


THE     CASE    OF    THE    EVANSTONS 


IV 

THE  CASE  OF  THE  EVANSTONS 

CARTY  Carteret  went  into  the  club  one  June 
afternoon  with  the  expectation  of  finding  Bray- 
brooke  there,  and  selling  him  a  horse.  Bray- 
brooke  was  not  in  the  club,  but  Mr.  Carteret  came 
upon  three  men  sitting  in  the  bow-window.  They  had 
their  backs  to  the  avenue,  and  were  apparently  ab- 
sorbed in  discussion.  As  he  approached,  Van  Cortlandt, 
who  was  speaking,  glanced  up  and  stopped.  At  the 
same  moment  Mr.  Carteret  drew  back.  They  were  not 
men  with  whom  he  cared  to  assume  the  familiarity  of 
intrusion. 

"Sit  down,  Carty,"  said  Shaw.  Mr.  Carteret  hesi- 
tated. Shaw  rose  and  drew  another  chair  into  the  circle. 
"Go  on  with  the  story,"  he  said  to  Van  Cortlandt. 

"I  dare  say  Carty  has  heard  it,"  observed  Van  Cort- 
landt, apologetically,  as  he  was  about  to  resume  his 
narrative  J  "he's  a  pal  of  Ned's." 

Mr.  Carteret  looked  at  him  inquiringly. 

"I  was  telling  them  about  the  Evanston  affair,"  said 
Van  Cortlandt. 


94  THE     CASE     OF     THE     EVANSTONS 

Mr.  Carteret  opened  his  cigarette-case  and  took  out 
a  cigarette.  "What  is  the  Evanston  affair?"  he  said 
shortly.  He  was  more  interested  than  he  cared  to  show. 

"They've  caught  Ned  Palfrey,"  said  Crownin- 
shield,  with  a  laugh.  Mr.  Carteret  turned  to  Van  Cort- 
landt.  "What  do  you  mean? "  he  said. 

"It's  a  fact,"  said  Van  Cortlandt.  "It  seems  that  last 
Thursday  Frank  Evanston  came  home  unexpectedly, 
and  found  Ned  there.  Exactly  what  happened  no  one 
knows,  but  the  story  is  that  the  gardener  and  a  footman 
threw  Neddie  out  of  the  house  and  into  the  fountain." 
Mr.  Carteret  threw  away  his  cigarette,  and  straight- 
ened himself  in  his  chair. 

"And  they  say,"  observed  Crowninshield,  "that  his 
last  words  were,  ^Come  on  in,  Frank  j  the  water's 
fine.'  "  There  was  a  general  laugh  in  which  Mr.  Car- 
teret did  not  join. 

"Is  that  all?  "he  asked. 

"That's  the  cream  of  it,"  replied  Van  Cortlandt. 
**The  rest  is  purely  conventional — separation  and  di- 
vorce proceedings." 

"That's  an  interesting  story,"  said  Mr.  Carteret, 
calmly,  "but  untrue." 

"How  do  you  know?"  said  Shaw. 

"Because,"  he  answered,  "on  Thursday,  Ned  Pal- 
frey was  at  my  house  in  the  country." 


THE     CASE     OF     THE     EVANSTONS  95 

"Dates  are  immaterial,"  said  Crowninshield.  "Very 
likely  it  was  Wednesday  or  Friday." 

"I  say,"  said  Van  Cortlandt,  "Pll  bet  you  even, 
Crowny,  it  was  Friday  as  against  Wednesday." 

"Pll  take  that,"  said  Crowninshield  j  "but  how  shall 
we  settle  it?" 

"Leave  it  to  Ned,"  said  Van  Cortlandt.  There  was 
another  laugh. 

"In  the  second  place,"  continued  Mr.  Carteret,  dis- 
regarding the  interruption,  "I  know  for  a  fact  that  last 
evening  the  Evanstons  were  still  living  together  in  the 
country." 

"Well,  I  know  there  is  going  to  be  a  divorce,"  said 
Van  Cortlandt.  "I  got  that  from  a  member  of  Emerson 
Whittlesea's  firm,  and  he's  Evanston's  lawyer." 

"A  lawyer  who  would  tell  a  thing  like  that  ought  to 
be  disbarred,"  said  Mr.  Carteret.  "If  I  could  find  out 
who  it  is,  I  should  try  to  have  it  done." 

"Why?"  said  Crowninshield. 

"Because  the  three  people  concerned  in  the  story 
that  he  has  furnished  a  foundation  for,  are  my 
friends." 

"So  they  are  his,"  said  Van  Cortlandt ;  "so  they  are 
ours.  That's  what  makes  it  interesting.  What's  the  use 
of  friends,"  he  went  on,  "if  you  can't  enjoy  their  do- 
mestic difficulties?" 


96  THE     CASE     OF     THE     EVANSTONS 

Mr.  Carteret  rose.  "That  is  a  matter  of  opinion," 
he  said  stiffly. 

"Well,"  retorted  Van  Cortlandt,  "there's  nothing 
one  can  do  about  it." 

"Have  you  ever  tried?"  said  Mr.  Carteret. 

"Have  you? "  said  Van  Cortlandt. 

Mr.  Carteret  made  no  reply.  He  turned  on  his  heel 
and  left  the  room.  Half-suppressed  laughter  followed 
him  into  the  hall,  and  he  v^ent  on  to  the  billiard  room 
to  "cool  out,"  as  he  expressed  it.  He  v^as  very  angry. 
He  paced  several  times  to  and  fro  beside  the  pool- 
table;  then  with  a  sudden  determination,  he  walked 
rapidly  out  of  the  club  and  got  into  his  motor. 

"Go  to  Mr.  Palfrey's,"  he  said  to  the  chauffeur. 
"Hurry."  A  few  blocks  up  the  avenue  the  car  drew  up 
to  the  curb,  and  he  got  out.  He  crossed  the  sidewalk, 
and  disappeared  into  the  great  apartment  house  where 
Palfrey  had  his  rooms.  Half  an  hour  later  he  came  out 
and  hurriedly  entered  the  car.  He  motioned  to  the 
chauffeur  to  change  places.  "Pll  drive,"  he  said. 
"How  is  your  gasolene?" 

"The  tank's  full,  sir,"  said  the  man. 

"Good,"  he  answered. 

He  started  the  car,  and  began  to  thread  his  way  up 
the  avenue.  At  59th  street  the  clock  on  the  dash-board 
said  ten  minutes  to  six. 


THE     CASE     OF     THE     EVANSTONS  97 

He  turned  into  the  Park  and  ran  through  the  ave- 
nues at  a  speed  which  made  arrest  imminent,  yet  he 
escaped.  The  Park  was  a  miracle  of  flowering  things, 
of  elms  feathering  into  leaf,  of  blossom  fragrances,  of 
robins  at  their  sunset  singing;  but  Mr.  Carteret  was 
unaware  of  it  all.  At  ten  minutes  past  six  he  was  in  the 
open  country.  Here  he  opened  the  throttle  and  ad- 
vanced the  spark.  He  called  upon  the  great  machine 
for  speed,  and  the  great  machine  lifted  its  shrill  roar 
and  gave  generously.  The  clock  and  the  trembling  fin- 
ger of  the  speedometer  showed  that  many  of  the  miles 
and  minutes  passed  together.  At  ten  minutes  of  seven 
he  turned  into  the  gateway  of  a  great  country-place, 
and  a  few  moments  later  came  upon  its  master  on  the 
west  terrace.  Evanston  greeted  him  pleasantly,  but  was 
evidently  surprised  to  see  him. 

"Did  you  motor  down?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Carteret  j  "sixty  minutes  from  59th 
street." 

Evanston  gave  a  low  exclamation. 

"It  wasn't  difficult,"  said  Mr.  Carteret,  "the  road's 
very  good."  An  awkward  silence  followed,  which  both 
men  felt. 

"Lovely  view,"  said  Mr.  Carteret,  looking  off 
across  the  lake  toward  the  sunset.  Then  there  was  an- 
other silence. 


98  THE     CASE     OF    THE     EVANSTONS 

Evanston  broke  it.  "Have  you  still  got  that  horse 
that  you  wanted  to  sell  me?" 

"I  think  so,"  said  Mr.  Carteret  j  "but  Pm  not 
trading  horses  this  afternoon."  His  voice  changed  and 
he  looked  at  Evanston. 

"Frank,"  he  said,  "can  you  keep  your  temper?" 

"I've  had  some  practice,"  said  Evanston.  "Why?" 

"Because,"  said  Mr.  Carteret,  "Fm  going  to  irri- 
tate you.  Fm  going  to  butt  in.  Fm  going  to  mix  up  in 
a  matter  that  is  none  of  my  business.  If  you  v^ant  to 
knock  me  down,  I  sha'n't  like  it,  but  I  sha'n't  resent 
it." 

Evanston  looked  at  him  suspiciously.  "What  do  you 
mean?"  he  said. 

"From  what  Fve  heard,"  said  Mr.  Carteret,  "your 
private  affairs  are  in  a  tangle." 

"So  you've  heard?"  said  Evanston. 

"Yes,  I  have  heard  a  good  many  things  which  are 
probably  not  so.  I  want  to  know  the  facts." 

Somewhat  to  his  surprise,  Evanston  made  no  show 
of  resentment.  "The  facts  are  simple,"  he  said.  "Fm 
tired  of  this  thing,  and  I'm  going  to  put  an  end  to  it." 

"Fve  heard  that,"  said  Mr.  Carteret  j  "but  if  you 
don't  mind  telling  me,  I'd  like  to  know  why.  I  like 
you,  Frank,"  he  added;  "I  like  your  wife;  I  like  your 
children — I  don't  want  to  see  you  bust  up." 


THE     CASE     OF     THE     EVANSTONS  99 

"You  are  very  good,  Carty,"  said  Evanston,  "but 
nothing  can  be  done  about  it.  It's  a  long  story,  with 
rights  and  wrongs  on  both  sides  j  but  at  the  beginning 
it  was  my  fault,  and  I  am  ready  to  pay  for  it." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  ^your  fault  at  the  begin- 
ning'?''  asked  Mr.  Carteret. 

"I  married  her,"  said  Evanston. 

"Well,  didn't  you  want  to.?"  asked  Mr.  Carteret. 

"I  wanted  to  too  much,"  said  Evanston  j  "that  was 
the  trouble." 

Mr.  Carteret  looked  puzzled.  "I  don't  think  I  un- 
derstand," he  said.  From  his  somewhat  objective  point 
of  view  the  more  complex  personality  of  Evanston  was 
baffling. 

"It  was  this  way,  Carty,"  Evanston  went  on.  "Her 
mother — ^you  know  her  mother? " 

Mr.  Carteret  nodded.  "Always  for  the  stuff,"  he 
observed. 

"Exactly,"  said  Evanston.  "Well,  to  put  it  bluntly, 
she  made  the  match." 

"But  I  thought  you  were  rather  keen  about  her," 
said  Mr.  Carteret. 

"So  I  was,"  said  Evanston;  "but  Edith  wasn't  keen 
about  me.  The  mother  forced  her  into  it,  and  I  was 
foolish  enough  to  believe  that  if  she  married  me,  she 
would  later  care  for  me.  The  fact  was,"  he  added, 


100        THE     CASE     OF     THE     EVANSTONS 

"I  was  walking  on  air,  with  my  head  in  a  dream." 

"I  understand,"  said  Mr.  Carteret. 

"Well,  we  were  married,"  continued  Evanston, 
"and  then  suddenly  out  of  a  blue  sky  came  the  panic 
and  the  T.  &  B.  failure,  and  I  was  flat  broke  and  a 
defaulter." 

"Defaulter!"  said  Mr.  Carteret. 

"Defaulter  as  to  my  side  of  the  matrimonial  bar- 
gain, which  was  to  provide  the  establishment,"  said 
Evanston.  "The  realization  of  this  fact  was  sudden 
and  painful." 

"Sudden?  How  do  you  mean  sudden?"  asked  Mr. 
Carteret. 

"Something  happened,"  said  Evanston,  "that 
opened  my  eyes." 

"Do  you  mean  the  loss  of  your  money? " 

"No,"  said  Evanston,  "you  know  the  money  end 
of  it  came  out  all  right.  My  uncle  died,  and  I  in- 
herited more  than  I  had  lost;  but  I  had  already  learned 
how  much  and  how  little  money  could  do.  And  so 
things  drifted  along,  and  now  the  only  course  open 
seems  to  be  to  call  it  all  off."  Evanston  was  silent. 

"Is  that  all?"  asked  Mr.  Carteret. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  other. 

"Frank,"  said  Mr.  Carteret,  "you  have  told  me 
everything  but  the  facts.  Don't  interrupt,"  he  went 


THE     CASE     OF     THE     EVANSTONS         lOI 

on,  as  Evanston  made  a  gesture  of  protest.  "The  es- 
sence of  the  matter  is  this — you  think  that  your  wife 
is  in  love  with  Ned  Palfrey;  you  believe  Palfrey  in 
love  with  her,  and  you  are  jealous  of  him." 

"I  don't  see  the  need  of  going  into  that,"  said 
Evanston.  "There  is  no  scandal.  I  trust  my  wife  and 
I  trust  Palfrey." 

"The  need  of  going  into  it,"  said  Mr.  Carteret,  "is 
to  set  you  right  on  two  points.  First,  your  wife  doesn't 
care  for  Palfrey  except  as  a  friend,  and  if  I  am  any 
judge  of  what  is  going  on  in  a  woman's  mind,  she 
cares  more  about  you  than  you  will  allow  her  to  show 
you.  Secondly,  except  as  a  friend.  Palfrey  doesn't  care 
for  your  wife." 

"Carty,"  said  Evanston,  "you  are  wasting  your 
time  and  mine.  I  know  that  a  man  is  foolish  to  be 
jealous  of  any  other  man,  and  I  know  that  Ned  Pal- 
frey is  all  right.  I'm  sorry  for  Palfrey.  He  has  as 
much  cause  for  resentment  against  me  as  I  have  against 
him.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  me  he  would  have  mar- 
ried her.  If  he  marries  her  later  on,  I  shall  have  no 
feeling  about  it.  But  I  can't  stand  the  situation  as  it  is, 
and  I  don't  care  to  have  you  tell  me  there  is  nothing 
in  it." 

"You  have  no  proof,"  said  Carteret,  "that  there  is 
anything  in  it." 


102        THE     CASE     OF     THE     EVANSTONS 

"No  proof?"  said  Evanston.  He  smiled  bitterly. 
"Only  the  proof  of  my  eyes." 

Carteret  threw  away  his  cigarette.  "The  proof  of 
your  eyes!"  he  said. 

Evanston  nodded.  "Perhaps  you  remember,"  he 
went  on,  "that  just  after  the  crash  I  disappeared  for 
a  week." 

"Yes,"  said  Carteret;  "it  was  two  years  ago,  just 
before  Christmas." 

"People  said  that  I  was  hiding  from  my  creditors; 
that  I  had  gone  to  Australia;  and  some  that  I  had 
killed  myself." 

"That  was  what  Edith  believed,"  said  Mr.  Car- 
teret. "It  nearly  killed  her." 

Evanston  laughed  scornfully.  "Women  don't  die  of 
such  things,"  he  said.  "Well,  to  go  on,  it  happened 
that  the  day  I  disappeared.  Palfrey  called  upon  my 
wife.  We  were  at  the  house  in  70th  street  then."  He 
paused  uneasily,  and  Mr.  Carteret  began  to  wonder. 
"I  came  up-town  late  in  the  afternoon,"  he  continued, 
"and  let  myself  in  with  a  key.  I  heard  voices  in  the 
drawing-room  and  went  down  the  hall.  The  curtains 
in  the  drawing-room  doorway  had  fallen  apart,  and  I 
looked  in.  Palfrey  was  there.  They  were  standing  by 
the  fireplace  and  had  dropped  their  voices  so  that  I 
couldn't  make  out  what  they  were  saying,  but  I  saw 


THE     CASE     OF     THE     EVANSTONS         IO3 

him  take  a  step  toward  her,  and  then  he  took  her 
hand."  Evanston  stopped.  "And  then,"  he  added 
"the  sawdust  dropped  out  of  my  doll." 

"What  happened?"  asked  Mr.  Carteret. 

"He  kissed  her,"  said  Evanston. 

Mr.  Carteret  started  inwardly.  Then  an  illumina- 
tion came  to  him.  "No,"  he  said;  "she  kissed  him." 

"As  a  gentleman,"  said  Evanston,  "I  would  rather 
put  it  the  other  way." 

"As  a  gentleman,"  said  Mr.  Carteret,  "you  must 
put  it  the  way  it  was." 

"Does  it  make  any  diflFerence?"  asked  Evanston. 

"The  difference  between  right  and  wrong,"  said 
Mr.  Carteret.  "Listen  to  me.  You  knew,  I  suppose, 
that  Palfrey  wanted  to  marry  Edith's  sister  Louise." 

A  look  of  wonder  came  into  Evanston's  face.  "No," 
he  said. 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Carteret,  "he  did.  I  know  it,  and 
when  you  saw  him  at  their  house  and  thought  he  was 
after  Edith,  you  were  barking  up  the  wrong  tree." 

Evanston  had  risen,  and  was  listening  apprehensive- 
ly. His  face  had  grown  white. 

"What  has  this  to  do  with  the  case?"  he  demanded. 

"The  afternoon  that  you  speak  of,"  Mr.  Carteret 
went  on,  "Louise  told  Palfrey  that  she  was  going  to 
marry  Witherbee.  With  that  piece  of  news  he  went  to 


104        THE     CASE     OF     THE     EVANSTONS 

your  house,  to  the  woman  who  had  been  his  friend  and 
confidante — your  wife.  He  was  a  good  deal  cut  up, 
and  when  he  said  good-by — ^you  know  he  sailed  for 
Europe  the  next  day — I  presume  she  was  sorry  for  him, 
and,  being  a  generous  woman,  an  impulsive  woman, 
she  showed  her  sympathy;  she  kissed  him  as  you  would 
kiss  a  broken-hearted  child." 

Evanston  made  a  strange  gesture,  as  if  to  put  away 
by  a  physical  action  the  thoughts  that  were  forcing 
themselves  into  his  mind.  "No,"  he  said  huskily;  "it 
isn't  true,  it  can't  be  true." 

"Do  you  think  I  would  come  to  you  with  a  lie?" 
said  Mr.  Carteret. 

"But  you  weren't  there,"  said  Evanston.  "How  do 
you  know.f"' 

"Neither  were  you,"  said  Mr.  Carteret.  "Why 
didn't  you  go  in  like  a  man  and  find  out  your  mis- 
take?" 

For  a  time  Evanston  made  no  answer.  Then  his 
voice  sank  to  a  whisper.  "I  was  afraid,"  he  said.  "If 
I  had  gone  in  I  was  out  of  my  head."  He  dropped  into 
his  chair  again,  and  turned  his  face  away.  His  body 
shook  convulsively,  but  he  made  no  sound.  Carteret 
stepped  awkwardly  to  the  terrace  balustrade  and  stood 
gazing  at  the  sunset.  The  silence  lasted  for  several 
minutes.  Then  Evanston  spoke;  his  voice  was  still  un- 


THE     CASE     OF     THE     EVANSTONS         IO5 

certain.  He  rose  and  walked  unsteadily  toward  the 
balustrade. 

"Carty,"  he  said,  "I  believe  you.  What  shall  I  do.? 
It's  awful,"  he  muttered;  "it's  awful." 

"It's  awfully  lucky,"  said  Mr.  Carteret,  "that  we 
have  straightened  things  out." 

Evanston  shook  his  head  wearily.  "But  we  haven't," 
he  said,  "we  can't.  It's  too  late." 

"Look  here,"  said  Mr.  Carteret,  impatiently,  "don't 
be  an  ass." 

"But  don't  you  understand,"  said  Evanston.  "If 
what  you  say  is  true, — and  I  believe  you, — then  I  have 
acted — "  he  stopped  and  thought  for  the  right  words, 
but  they  did  not  come.  "I  left  her  that  afternoon  with- 
out a  word.  A  week  later,  without  explanation,  I  came 
back,  and  for  two  years  I  have  treated  her — God 
knows  how  I  have  treated  her!"  he  murmured.  "If 
she  did  care  for  me  at  the  first,"  he  went  on,  "if  she 
cared  for  me  after  the  failure,  the  end  of  it  must  have 
come  when  I  went  away  and  came  back  as  I  did.  And 
now  to  put  an  obstacle  in  the  way  of  her  freedom,  to 
try  to  buy  her  again,  would  be  the  act  of  a  black- 
guard." 

"But  suppose  she  loves  you?"  said  Mr.  Carteret. 

"That,"  said  Evanston,  "is  impossible." 

"It  ought  to  be  impossible,"  said  Mr.  Carteret.  "If 


I06       THE     CASE     OF    THE     EVANSTONS 

she  poisoned  you  any  jury  would  acquit  her;  but, 
fortunately  for  us,  women  are  not  logical." 

"No,"  said  Evanston  again,  "it  is  impossible." 

"That  is  your  view  of  it,"  said  Mr.  Carteret. 
"Would  anything  convince  you  that  you  are  wrong? " 

Evanston  was  silent  a  moment.  Then  he  smiled  bit- 
terly. "If  the  thoughts  she  had  about  me  in  those 
days,"  he  began, — "in  those  days  after  I  had  come 
home, — if  they  could  come  back  like  ghosts,  and 
should  tell  me  that  all  that  time  she  cared  for  me,  in 
spite  of  what  I  was  and  did — "  He  paused. 

"Then  of  course  it  is  impossible,"  said  Mr.  Car- 
teret, dryly. 

He  turned  away  toward  the  sunset  again  and  looked 
at  his  watch.  It  was  a  quarter  past  seven.  In  the  last 
twenty-five  minutes  his  hopes  had  flown  high  and 
fallen  dead.  Evanston's  point  of  view  was  beyond  his 
comprehension.  He  felt  that  the  man  was  mad,  and 
that  he  had  come  upon  a  fooPs  errand. 

He  turned  back  toward  Evanston.  "I  must  be  go- 
ing," he  said.  At  that  moment  a  servant  came  from 
the  house  and  approached  them. 

"Mr.  Whitehouse  is  on  the  telephone,  sir,"  the  man 
said  to  Evanston.  "He  says  his  cook  has  been  taken 
suddenly  ill,  and  may  he  come  to  dine  to-night  and 
bring  Professor  Blake." 


THE     CASE     OF     THE     EVANSTONS         lOJ 

Evanston  looked  helplessly  at  Mr.  Carteret.  "That's 
odd,"  he  said,  "isn't  it?" 

"He  evidently  hasn't  heard,"  said  Mr.  Carteret. 

"Evidently,"  said  Evanston.  "But  v^^hy  shouldn't 
he  come? "  he  added.  He  turned  to  the  man.  "Tell  Mr. 
Whitehouse  that  Mrs.  Evanston  and  myself  w^ill  be 
glad  to  have  him  and  Professor  Blake."  The  man 
bowed  and  went  back  to  the  house. 

"It's  better  that  way,"  continued  Evanston.  "We'll 
have  a  party.  I  don't  know  who  Blake  isj  but  Whittle- 
sea's  coming  down,  and  you'll  stay." 

"I  can't;  I  have  no  clothes,"  said  Mr.  Carteret. 

"That  doesn't  matter,"  said  Evanston. 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Carteret,  "I  must  go.  I'm  of  no  use 
here." 

"Don't  say  that,"  said  Evanston.  He  held  out  his 
hand.  "Carty,  you  are  the  only  human  being  that  un- 
derstands or  wants  to  understand." 

"Then,"  said  Mr.  Carteret,  "I'll  stay." 

It  was  nine  o'clock,  and  they  had  finished  dinner. 
From  the  dining-room  the  men  went  to  the  library  to 
smoke,  and  Whitehouse's  friend,  the  Professor,  began 
to  talk.  He  was  an  Orientalist,  and  had  recently  dis- 
covered a  buried  city  on  the  plateau  of  Iran.  Mr.  Car- 
teret was  not  interested  in  buried  cities,  so  he  smoked 
and  occupied  himself  with  his  own  thoughts.  From  the 


I08       THE     CASE     OF    THE     EVANSTONS 

distant  part  of  the  house  came  the  music  of  a  piano. 
He  knew  that  it  was  Edith  playing  in  the  drawing- 
room.  It  occurred  to  him  that  it  would  be  pleasant  to 
go  out  upon  the  terrace  and  listen  to  the  music.  He 
was  meditating  the  execution  of  this  project  when  he 
saw  Whittlesea  slip  out;  the  same  idea  had  occurred 
to  the  lawyer. 

Mr.  Carteret  watched  him  go  with  chagrin,  but  he 
felt  that  it  would  be  rude  for  him  to  follow,  so  he  sat 
where  he  was,  and  bore  up  under  the  buried  city.  The 
talk  went  on  until  suddenly  the  cathedral  clock  in  the 
hallway  began  to  striked  in  muffled  arpeggios.  White- 
house  started  up  and  looked  at  his  watch. 

"It's  half-past  nine,"  he  said  to  the  Professor.  "If 
you  really  must  take  the  night  train,  we  ought  to  be 
starting." 

"I'll  ring,"  said  Evanston,  "and  have  somebody  or- 
der your  trap." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Whitehouse,  "I  would  rather 
order  it  myself;  I  want  to  speak  to  my  man.  I  know 
where  the  stable  telephone  is."  He  went  out. 

"I  am  sorry  you  have  to  go,"  said  Evanston  to  the 
Professor. 

"So  am  I,"  the  Professor  replied.  "This  has  been  a 
most  delightful  evening." 

Just  then  Whitehouse  put  his  head  in  the  door. 


THE     CASE     OF     THE     EVANSTONS         IO9 

"The  stable  telephone  is  out  of  order,"  he  said,  "I'll 
have  to  ask  you  to  send  some  one,  after  all." 

"The  telephone's  all  right,"  replied  Evanstonj  "the 
trouble  is,  you  don't  know  how  to  use  it."  He  rose,  and 
joining  Whitehouse,  left  the  room. 

As  he  went  out,  the  Professor  started  to  rise,  but 
something  held  him,  and  he  sat  back  awkwardly.  His 
sleeve-link  had  caught  in  the  cord  of  the  cushion  on 
which  his  arm  had  been  resting.  He  stooped  to  dis- 
entangle it,  and  turning  the  cushion  over,  his  eyes 
rested  on  a  curious  pattern  worked  in  gold.  He  gave  a 
low  exclamation  of  surprise,  and  carried  the  cushion 
into  the  lamplight. 

"Anything  the  matter? "  inquired  Mr.  Carteret.  To 
him  the  Professor  was  rather  curious  than  human,  but 
he  felt  that  it  was  civil  to  show  an  interest  in  him. 

"There's  a  verse,"  replied  the  Professor,  "embroi- 
dered in  Persian  characters  on  this  cushion.  It's  the 
work  of  a  poet  little  known  in  Europe.  It's  very  ex- 
traordinary to  find  it  here." 

"Really,"  said  Mr.  Carteret,  suppressing  a  yawn. 

"I'll  translate  it  for  you,"  said  the  Professor. 

"I  should  be  pleased,"  said  Mr.  Carteret. 

There  was  a  silence,  during  which  the  Professor 
wrote  on  a  stray  sheet  of  paper,  and  Mr.  Carteret 
speculated  on  the  chance  of  his  horse  Balloonist  in  the 


no        THE     CASE     OF     THE     EVANSTONS 

Broadway  steeplechase.  The  Professor  was  handing  the 
slip  of  paper  to  Mr.  Carteret  when  Whitehouse  and 
Evanston  came  hurriedly  into  the  room. 

"I'm  afraid  you'll  have  to  hurry,"  said  Whitehouse. 
"We  have  very  little  time." 

"All  right,"  said  the  Professor  5  "but  I  must  say 
good-by  to  Mrs.  Evanston."  He  nodded  a  good-night 
to  Mr.  Carteret,  and  went  out  of  the  room,  followed 
by  Evanston  and  Whitehouse. 

Mr.  Carteret  heard  the  music  stop  in  the  drawing- 
room,  and  he  knew  that  the  Professor  was  taking  his 
leave.  He  heard  it  begin  again,  and  he  knew  that  the 
guests  had  gone. 

"I  must  go  myself,"  he  thought.  "Evanston  wants 
to  talk  with  Whittlesea." 

He  was  about  to  rise  when  he  glanced  idly  at  the 
sheet  of  paper  which  the  Professor  had  given  him. 
Mr.  Carteret  was  not  fond  of  poetry.  He  considered 
it  a  branch  of  knowledge  which  concerned  only  wom- 
en and  literary  persons.  But  the  words  of  the  transla- 
tion that  he  held  in  his  hand  he  read  a  first  time,  then 
a  second  time,  then  a  third  time. 

He  rose,  with  a  startled  sense  of  being  on  the  brink 
of  discovery,  and  then  Evanston  came  in. 

"You  are  not  going,"  said  Evanston. 

"No,"  said  Mr.   Carteret,  vaguely.   "Frank,"  he 


THE     CASE     OF     THE     EVANSTONS         III 

went  on,  "do  you  know  anything  about  that  sofa  pil- 
low?" 

"What  sofa  pillow?"  asked  Evanston. 

Mr.  Carteret  took  the  cushion  with  the  strange  em- 
broidery, and  held  it  in  the  lamplight. 

"That? "  said  Evanston — "Edith  gave  me  that." 

"When?"  asked  Mr.  Carteret. 

"It  was  a  Christmas  present,"  said  Evanston — "the 
Christmas  after  the  failure." 

"After  you  came  back?" 

Evanston  nodded. 

"Do  you  know  where  she  got  it?"  asked  Mr.  Car- 
teret. "I  mean  the  embroidery." 

"She  worked  it,"  said  Evanston. 

"But,"  said  Mr.  Carteret,  "it's  Persian." 

"Very  likely  she  got  the  design  from  her  uncle," 
said  Evanston.  "She  used  to  be  a  great  deal  with  him. 
You  know  he  was  Wyeth,  the  Orientalist.  But  what 
is  all  this  about?  Why  are  you  interested  in  this  sofa 
pillow? " 

Mr.  Carteret  gazed  searchingly  at  Evanston.  "The 
design,"  he  said,  "that  is  embroidered  is  a  verse." 

Evanston  looked  at  him  uncomprehendingly. 
"Well,"  he  said,  "what  of  it? " 

"I  want  you  to  ask  Edith  what  it  is,"  said  Mr.  Car- 
teret. 


112        THE     CASE     OF     THE     EVANSTONS 

"Why?"  said  Evanston. 

"Don't  ask  why.  Do  it." 

"What  use  can  there  be  in  calling  up  the  past?" 
said  Evanston.  "It  can  only  be  painful  to  both  of  us." 

"Never  mind,"  said  Mr.  Carteret  j  "do  it  as  a  favor 
to  me." 

"I  think  you  w^ill  have  to  excuse  me,  Carty,"  said 
Evanston,  somewhat  stiffly. 

Mr.  Carteret  moved  to  the  wall  and  rang  the  bell. 
Neither  man  spoke  until  the  servant  appeared.  "Please 
say  to  Mrs.  Evanston,"  said  Mr.  Carteret,  "that  Mr. 
Evanston  and  Mr.  Carteret  wish  very  much  that  she 
would  come  to  the  library."  As  the  man  left  the  room, 
Evanston  came  forward. 

"What  does  this  mean?"  he  demanded. 

"My  meaning  ought  to  be  plain,"  said  Mr.  Car- 
teret. "I  intend  to  have  you  ask  your  wife  what  is  on 
that  cushion."  There  was  something  in  his  tone,  in  the 
look  in  his  eyes,  which  made  Evanston's  protest  melt 
away,  then  transfixed  him,  then  made  him  whiten  and 
tremble. 

Presently  they  heard  the  rustle  of  a  woman's  dress 
in  the  hallway.  "Do  you  understand?"  said  Mr.  Car- 
teret, quickly.  "You  must  ask  her.  You  must  force  it 
out  of  her.  If  she  refuses  to  tell  you,  you  must  choke 
it  out  of  her.  The  ghosts  have  come  back!"  Then  he 


THE     CASE     OF     THE     EVANSTONS         II3 

hurriedly  crossed  the  room  to  the  French  window  that 
opened  upon  the  terrace.  As  he  reached  the  window, 
Edith  stood  in  the  doorway. 

"Do  you  want  me? "  she  asked. 

"Frank  wants  you,"  he  answered,  and  stepped  out 
blindly  into  the  night.  He  groped  his  way  across  the 
terrace,  and  from  the  terrace  went  on  to  the  lawn. 
Overhead  the  stars  looked  down  and  studded  the  lake 
with  innumerable  lights.  The  night  insects  were  sing- 
ing. The  fireflies  glimmered  in  the  shrubbery.  The 
perfume  from  the  syringa  thicket  was  heavy  on  the 
still  air.  Ordinarily  these  things  did  not  appeal  strong- 
ly to  Mr.  Carteret;  but  to-night  they  thrilled  him.  A 
few  steps  across  the  grass  and  he  stopped  and  looked 
back.  The  house  was  silent.  From  the  library  windows 
the  lamplight  streamed  out  upon  the  terrace  lawn.  He 
turned  away  again  and  stood  listening  to  the  night 
things — the  measured  chorus  of  the  frogs  in  the  dis- 
tant marsh,  the  whippoorwill  that  was  calling  in  the 
darkness  on  the  point.  Then  he  resumed  his  progress 
across  the  lawns.  Suddenly  he  came  upon  a  figure  in 
the  darkness,  and  started. 

"Has  that  fellow  gone?"  It  was  Whittlesea's  voice. 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Carteret. 

"Then  I  must  go  back,"  said  the  lawyer.  "Car- 
teret," he  went  on,  "this  is  wretched  business.  One 


114        THE     CASE     OF    THE     EVANSTONS 

would  think  that,  in  a  spot  like  this,  on  such  a  night, 
people  ought  to  be  happy." 

"You  are  right,"  said  Mr.  Carteret.  "Whittlesea," 
he  added,  "come  along  but  don't  speak."  He  slipped 
his  arm  through  the  lawyer's  and  guided  their  steps 
back  toward  the  terrace.  They  mounted  it  and  stealthi- 
ly approached  the  library  window.  From  the  darkness 
they  could  see  into  the  lighted  room,  and  not  be  seen. 
The  lawyer  gave  a  low  exclamation,  and  drew  his  arm 
away. 

Evanston  and  his  wife  were  sitting  side  by  side  upon 
the  couch.  His  arm  was  about  her,  and  his  face  was 
bent  close  to  hers.  They  made  no  sound,  but  her  body 
shook  a  little,  and  trembled  as  if  she  were  weeping 
silently.  The  two  men  parted  in  the  darkness,  Mr. 
Carteret  retreating  back  across  the  terrace. 

The  fireflies  still  were  glimmering  in  the  syringa 
bushes,  the  night  voices  still  were  chorusing,  but  Mr. 
Carteret  was  unaware  of  them.  He  looked  vaguely 
into  the  heavens.  The  Milky  Way  glimmered  from 
horizon  to  horizon. 

"  'Has  the  singing  nightingale  a  thought  of  the 
grainfields.?'  " 

he  began  to  murmur. 


THE     CASE     OF    THE     EVANSTONS        II5 

"  *If  I  love  you,  oh,  my  beloved,  what  are  poverty 
or  riches?'  " 

It  was  the  verse  upon  the  cushion. 

He  stumbled  over  a  croquet  ball  in  the  darkness  and 
brought  his  eyes  down  from  the  heavens. 

"Carteret,  you're  an  ass,"  he  muttered.  He  fumbled 
for  his  pocket  handkerchief  and  blew  his  nose.  Then 
wandered  on  across  the  lawn  till  he  came  to  the  path 
that  led  to  the  stables,  where  his  motor  was  waiting. 
Here  he  stopped  and  looked  back  at  the  house.  The 
lamplight  was  still  streaming  from  the  library  win- 
dows, and  the  silence,  save  for  the  night  things,  was 
still  unbroken.  For  perhaps  a  minute  he  stood  and 
gazed  J  then  he  turned  and  went  down  the  pathway. 


THE    MATTER    OF    A    MASHIE 


V 

THE    MATTER    OF    A    MASHIE 

CUTTING  had  been  taken  into  the  firm,  to  the 
disgust  of  the  junior  partners.  They  agreed  that 
he  would  never  amount  to  much,  being  given 
over  to  sports  and  unprofitable  v^ays  of  life. 

It  came  about  as  a  result  of  Cutting  getting  himself 
engaged.  There  w^as  no  excuse  for  his  getting  himself 
engaged.  He  was  poor,  and  She  was  poor,  and  they 
both  had  rich  friends  and  expensive  ideas  of  life.  But, 
as  sometimes  happens  in  such  cases.  Providence  was 
fairly  shocked  into  making  unexpected  arrangements. 

Cutting's  uncle  was  the  head  of  the  firm.  Said  he: 
"I  am  going  to  give  you  six  months'  trial.  If  you  are 
not  satisfactory  you  will  have  to  get  out.  Good  morn- 
ing." 

The  elder  Cutting  was  a  great  lawyer.  As  a  man  he 
was  a  gruff-spoken  old  person,  a  worshipper  of  disci- 
pline, and  continuously  ashamed  of  his  kind-hearted 
impulses.  For  forty-five  years  he  had  reached  his  of- 
fice at  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  had  remained 
there  till  six  at  night.  After  that  he  went  to  the  club 


120  THE     MATTER     OF    A     MASHIE 

and  took  his  exercise  at  a  whist-table.  He  considered 
the  new  out-of-door  habits  of  professional  men  a 
scandal. 

The  junior  partners  had  grown  up  in  this  school  of 
thought,  and  as  a  matter  of  course  they  disapproved  of 
Mr.  Richard  Cutting.  It  was  unfortunate  that  Mr. 
Cutting  cared  little  whether  they  disapproved  or  not. 
It  was  also  imprudent  j  for  the  junior  partners  not  un- 
naturally had  it  in  mind  to  make  his  connection  with 
the  firm  end  with  his  six  months'  probation. 

The  previous  week  a  crisis  had  been  reached.  Cut- 
ting was  away  two  entire  days  for  a  Long  Island  golf 
tournament.  The  junior  partners  conferred  with  the 
senior  partner,  and  there  was  a  very  complete  un- 
pleasantness. 

"I  shall  be  forced  to  terminate  our  arrangement  un- 
less I  hear  better  reports  of  you  from  my  associates," 
said  the  elder  Cutting,  in  conclusion.  He  believed  it 
his  duty  to  say  this;  he  was  also  honestly  irritated. 

The  junior  partners  were  gratified;  they  considered 
that  they  had  settled  the  younger  Cutting. 

It  was  a  muggy  September  morning,  and  the  office 
force  was  hot  and  irritable.  Something  unusual  and 
disturbing  was  in  the  air.  The  junior  partners  were 
consulting  anxiously  in  the  big  general  room  where 


THE     MATTER    OF    A    MASHIE  121 

most  of  the  clerks  worked,  and  the  younger  Cutting 
had  his  desk.  The  younger  Cutting  had  not  yet  ap- 
peared. He  came  in  as  the  clock  was  pointing  to  twelve 
minutes  past  ten.  The  junior  partners  glanced  up  at 
the  clock,  and  went  on  again  in  animated  undertones. 

Cutting  opened  his  desk,  sat  down,  and  unfolded 
his  newspaper.  He  was  a  beautiful,  clean-looking 
youth  with  an  air  of  calm  and  deliberation.  He  re- 
garded the  junior  partners  with  composure,  and  began 
to  read. 

"No,"  Mr.  Bruce  was  saying  j  "it  is  too  late  to  do 
anything  about  it  now.  The  case  is  on  to-day's  calendar, 
and  will  be  called  the  first  thing  after  lunch.  Our  wit- 
nesses haven't  been  notified  or  subpoenaed,  and  the  law 
hasn't  been  looked  up." 

Smith  shook  his  head  sourly.  "The  old  man  is  get- 
ting more  absent-minded  every  year,"  he  said.  "We 
can't  trust  him  to  look  after  his  business  any  longer. 
The  managing  clerk  gave  him  a  week's  notice,  and 
told  him  about  it  again  yesterday.  You  think  there  is 
no  chance  of  getting  more  time?" 

Bruce  looked  at  his  colleague  with  contempt.  "Yo« 
might,"  he  said  sarcastically;  "/  can't." 

"Oh,  I'll  take  your  word  for  it,"  said  Smith.  "I 
don't  want  to  tackle  Heminway." 

Bruce  laughed  dryly.  "The  case  has  been  put  over 


122  THE     MATTER     OF    A    MASHIE 

for  US  I  don't  know  how  many  times  already,"  he  said. 
"I  don't  blame  Heminway.  He  gave  us  ample  notice 
that  he  couldn't  do  it  again." 

"That's  true,"  said  Smith. 

Reed  vs.  Hawkins,  the  case  in  question,  was  a  liti- 
gation of  small  financial  importance,  about  which  the 
senior  Cutting  had  formed  a  novel  and  ingenious 
theory  of  defense.  Instead  of  turning  it  over  to  the 
younger  men,  he  kept  it  as  a  legal  recreation.  But  he 
never  got  to  it.  It  was  his  Carcassonne. 

The  day  of  trial  would  come,  and  he  would  smile 
blandly,  and  remark:  "True!  That  has  slipped  my 
mind  completely.  Bruce,  kindly  send  over  to  Hemin- 
way and  ask  him  to  put  it  over  the  term.  I  want  to  try 
that  case  myself.  A  very  interesting  point  of  law, 
Bruce,  very  interesting." 

The  last  time  this  had  happened,  the  great  Mr. 
Heminway  observed  that  professional  etiquette  had 
been  overtaxed,  and  that  the  Reed  case  must  go  on. 
People  who  knew  Mr.  Heminway  did  not  waste  their 
breath  urging  him  to  change  his  mind. 

Messrs.  Bruce  and  Smith  considered  the  situation 
for  a  time  in  silence. 

"Well,"  said  Smith,  at  last,  "it's  bad  for  the  firm  to 
let  a  judgment  be  taken  against  us  by  default,  but  I 
don't  see  anything  else  to  do." 


THE     MATTER     OF    A     MASHIE  123 

At  this  moment  the  elder  Cutting  emerged  from 
his  private  office  with  his  hat  on.  Obviously  he  was  in 
a  hurry,  but  he  paused  as  he  came  through. 

"Have  you  attended  to  that  Reed  matter?"  he 
asked. 

"There's  nothing  to  do  but  let  it  go  by  default," 
said  Bruce. 

Mr.  Cutting  stopped.  "Get  more  time!"  he  said. 

"I  can't,"  said  Bruce.  "Heminway  has  put  his  foot 
down.  No  one  can  make  him  change  his  mind  now." 

"Stuff!"  said  Mr.  Cutting.  "Dick,  go  over  and  tell 
Heminway  I  want  that  Reed  case  put  over  the  term." 
And  he  went  out. 

Cutting  finished  the  Gravesend  races,  laid  the  paper 
on  his  desk,  scribbled  a  stipulation,  and  leisurely  de- 
parted. 

As  the  door  closed,  the  junior  partners  looked  at 
each  other  and  smiled.  Then  said  Smith,  "I  wish  I 
could  be  there  and  see  it." 

Bruce  chuckled.  He  could  imagine  the  scene  toler- 
ably well.  "It  will  do  him  a  lot  of  good,"  he  said.  Then 
he  added:  "Don't  you  think  I  had  better  write  per- 
sonally to  Hawkins  and  explain  matters?  Of  course 
we  shall  have  to  pay  the  costs." 

"Yes,"  said  Smith;  "it's  better  to  explain  at  once. 
It's  a  piece  of  bad  business." 


124  THE     MATTER     OF    A     MASHIE 

The  younger  Cutting  announced  himself  as  Mr.  Cut- 
ting, of  Cutting,  Bruce  &  Smith.  That  was  a  name 
which  carried  weight,  and  the  office  boy  jumped  up 
and  looked  at  him  curiously,  for  he  took  him  for  the 
Mr.  Cutting.  Then  he  led  him  down  a  private  pas- 
sage into  the  inner  and  holy  place  of  the  great  Mr. 
Heminway. 

"He'll  be  back  in  a  moment,  sir,"  said  the  boy. 
"He's  stepped  into  Mr.  Anson's  office."  Mr.  Anson 
was  the  junior  partner. 

The  door  into  the  waiting-room  was  ajar  about  an 
inch.  Cutting  peeped  through  it,  and  saw  the  people 
who  wished  to  consult  the  great  lawyer.  He  knew  some 
of  them.  There  was  a  banker  who  had  recently  thrown 
Wall  street  into  confusion  by  buying  two  railroads  in 
one  day.  There  were  others  equally  well  known,  and 
a  woman  whose  income  was  a  theme  for  the  Sunday 
newspapers.  Cutting  watched  them  stewing  and  fidget- 
ing with  an  unlovely  satisfaction.  It  was  unusual  for 
such  persons  to  wait  for  anybody. 

He  discovered  that  by  walking  briskly  toward  the 
door  he  could  make  them  start  and  eye  one  another 
suspiciously,  like  men  in  a  barber-shop  at  the  call  of 
"Next!"  When  this  entertainment  palled,  he  played 
with  his  hat.  Still  the  great  man  did  not  come,  and 
presently  Cutting  took  a  tour  of  inspection  about  the 


THE     MATTER     OF    A     MASHIE  125 

room.  As  he  reached  the  lawyer's  desk,  a  golf-club 
caught  his  eye,  and  he  stopped.  It  was  a  strangely 
weighted,  mammoth  mashie.  He  picked  it  up  and 
swung  it. 

"What  an  extraordinary  thing!"  he  muttered.  "It 
weighs  a  pound."  He  looked  for  the  maker's  name, 
but  the  steel  head  had  not  been  stamped. 

He  put  it  back  on  the  desk-top,  and  was  turning 
away  when  a  row  of  books  caught  his  eye.  Half  con- 
cealed by  a  pile  of  papers  was  the  Badminton  golf- 
book,  an  American  book  of  rules,  a  score-book,  a  work 
entitled  "Hints  for  Beginners,"  and  a  pamphlet  of 
"Golf  Don'ts."  In  the  pigeonhole  above  lay  several 
deeply  scarred  balls.  Cutting  laughed. 

Just  then  he  heard  a  step,  and  turned  hastily  around. 
A  tall,  imposing  figure  stood  in  the  private  doorway 
— a  man  of  sixty,  with  a  grim,  clean-cut  face. 

"Well?"  said  Mr.  Heminway,  questioningly.  He 
had  a  blunt,  aggressive  manner  that  made  Cutting  feel 
as  if  he  were  about  to  ask  a  great  favor. 

"Well?"  he  repeated.  "I'm  very  busy.  Please  tell 
me  what  I  can  do  for  you." 

"My  name's  Cutting,"  the  young  man  began — 
"Richard  Cutting,  of  Cutting,  Bruce  &  Smith." 

The  great  lawyer's  face  softened,  and  a  friendly 
light  came  into  his  eyes. 


126  THE     MATTER     OF    A     MASHIE 

"I  am  glad  to  know  you,"  he  said.  "I  knew  your 
father.  Your  uncle  and  I  were  classmates.  That  was  a 
long  time  ago.  Are  you  the  ^R.'  Cutting  who  won  the 
golf  tournament  down  on  Long  Island  last  week? " 

Cutting  nodded. 

"Well,  well,"  he  exclaimed,  "what  a  remarkable 
young  man  you  must  be!  You  see,"  he  added,  "I've 
taken  it  up  in  a  mild  way  myself.  Pm  afraid  I  shall 
never  be  able  to  get  really  interested,  but  it's  an  ex- 
cuse for  keeping  out  of  doors.  I  wish  I  had  begun  it  at 
your  age.  Every  afternoon  on  the  links  is  so  much 
health  stored  up  for  after  life.  Remember  that!" 

"They  say  it  is  wholesome,"  said  Cutting.  "I  gath- 
ered that  you  played.  I  saw  a  mashie  on  your  desk. 
If  you  don't  think  me  rude,  would  you  tell  me  where 
you  got  that  thing.?  Or  is  it  some  sort  of  advertise- 
ment?" 

Mr.  Heminway  looked  surprised.  "Advertise- 
ment?" he  repeated.  "Oh,  no.  That's  an  idea  of  my 
own.  You  see,  I  need  a  heavy  club  to  get  distance.  I 
had  this  made.  It  weighs  fourteen  ounces,"  he  went 
on.  "What  do  you  think  of  it?"  He  handed  the  thing 
over,  and  watched  Cutting's  face. 

"Do  you  want  my  honest  opinion?"  said  Cutting. 

The  lawyer  nodded. 

"Then  give  it  away,  Mr.  Heminway,"  said  the 


THE     MATTER     OF    A     MASHIE  127 

young  man,  respectfully,  "or  melt  it  into  rails.  You 
know  you  can't  play  golf  with  that." 

The  lawyer  looked  puzzled.  "What  do  you  mean.?" 
he  asked. 

"Why,  distance  isn't  a  question  of  weight!"  said 
Cutting.  "It's  a  fact  that  you  get  the  best  distance  with 
the  lightest  clubs.  Most  professionals  use  ladies' 
cleeks." 

The  great  lawyer  looked  thoughtful.  "Is  that  so.?" 
he  asked.  He  was  trying  to  account  for  this  doctrine 
out  of  his  experience.  "It  seems  absurd,"  he  added. 

"It's  so,  though,"  said  Cutting.  He  heard  the  bank- 
er in  the  next  room  cough  ominously.  He  took  up  his 
hat. 

"Sit  down,  sit  down!"  exclaimed  the  lawyer.  "I 
want  to  find  out  about  this.  I've  been  doing  pretty  well, 
except  at  the  quarry-hole.  That  beats  me.  It's  only  one 
hundred  and  twenty-five  yards,  so  I'm  ashamed  to  use 
a  driver  J  and  with  an  iron  I  go  in — I  go  in  too  often." 

"Everybody  goes  in  at  times,"  Cutting  remarked 
encouragingly;  "it's  a  sort  of  nerve  hazard,  you  know." 

"I  go  in  more  than  ^at  times^  "  said  the  lawyer. 
"Last  Saturday  I  lost  sixteen  balls  there — and  my  self- 
respect.  That's  too  much,  isn't  it?" 

Cutting  looked  severely  away  at  the  portrait  of 
Chief  Justice  Marshall.  "Yes,"  he  said;  "that  is  rather 


128  THE     MATTER     OF    A     MASHIE 

often."  The  idea  of  Mr.  Heminway  profanely  filling 
up  the  hill  quarry  with  golf-balls  appealed  to  him. 
"Still,"  he  went  on,  "you  must  pardon  me,  but  I  don't 
think  it  could  have  been  because  your  clubs  were  too 
light." 

"Well,"  demanded  the  lawyer,  "what  do  I  do  that's 
wrong? " 

Cutting  looked  him  over  critically.  "Of  course  I've 
never  seen  you  play,"  he  said.  "I  should  judge,  though, 
that  you  hit  too  hard,  for  one  thing." 

"I  suppose  I  do,"  said  the  lawyer.  "I  get  irritated. 
It  appears  so  simple." 

"You  see,"  Cutting  continued,  "there  are  three 
things  that  you  ought  always  to  keep  in  mind — " 

There  was  a  rap  on  the  door,  and  a  clerk  put  his 
head  in. 

"Mr.  Pendleton,"  he  began,  mentioning  the  bank- 


er's name. 


The  lawyer  waved  him  out.  "I'm  busy,"  he  saidj 
"tell  him  I'll  see  him  directly.  Three  things?"  he  re- 
peated, turning  to  Cutting.  "What  are  they?" 

"In  the  first  place,"  said  the  young  man,  "when  you 
swing,  you  must  keep  your  arms  away,  and  you  mustn't 
draw  back  with  your  body.  Your  head  mustn't  move 
from  side  to  side." 

The  lawyer  looked  puzzled. 


THE     MATTER     OF    A     MASHIE  129 

"Fancy  a  rod  running  down  your  head  and  spine 
into  the  ground.  Now  that  makes  your  neck  a  sort  of 
pivot  to  turn  on  when  you  swing.  It's  like  this."  He 
took  the  club  and  illustrated  his  idea.  "A  good  way 
to  practise,"  he  added,  "is  to  stand  with  your  back  to 
the  sun  and  watch  your  shadow.  You  can  tell  then  if 
your  head  moves." 

"That's  ingenious,"  observed  Mr.  Heminway.  He 
looked  about  the  room  as  if  he  expected  to  find  the 
sun  in  one  of  the  corners.  The  awnings  were  down,  and 
only  a  subdued  light  filtered  in. 

"We  might  manage  with  an  electric  light,"  he  sug- 
gested. He  turned  on  his  desk-lamp,  and  arranged  it 
on  the  top  of  the  desk  so  that  it  cast  its  glare  on  the 
floor.  Then  he  pulled  down  the  window-shade. 

"That's  good,"  said  Cutting,  "only  it's  rather  weak. 
Watch  the  shadow  of  my  head."  He  began  swinging 
with  the  mashie. 

"I  see,"  said  Mr.  Heminway j  "that's  very  ingeni- 


ous." 


"It  insures  an  even  swing,"  said  Cutting.  "Now, 
the  next  thing,"  he  went  on,  "is  to  come  back  slowly 
and  not  too  far.  That's  the  great  trick  about  iron  shots 
especially.  You  can  hardly  come  back  too  slowly  at 
first.  All  the  golf-books  will  tell  you  that.  It's  put  very 
well  in  McPherson's  'Golf  Lessons.'  " 


cc 


130  THE     MATTER     OF    A     MASHIE 

Mr.  Heminway  looked  over  the  books  on  his  desk. 
I  know  I  bought  McPherson,"  he  said.  "I  think  I 
lent  it  to  Anson.  He's  insane  about  the  game."  He 
rang  his  bell,  and  a  boy  appeared. 

"Tell  Mr.  Anson  that  I  want  McPherson's  *Gol£ 
Lessons/  "  he  said. 

"You  see,"  Cutting  went  on,  "you  get  just  as  much 
power  and  more  accuracy."  He  illustrated  the  half- 
swing  several  times.  "A  stroke  like  that,  well  carried 
through,  will  give  you  a  hundred  and  twenty-five 
yards.  I  have  a  mashie  with  which  I  sometimes  get  a 
hundred  and  fifty." 

The  lawyer  stretched  out  his  hand  for  the  club. 
"That  looks  simple,"  he  saidj  "let  me  try  it." 

Just  then  the  boy  came  back  with  the  book  and 
a  note.  The  note  was  from  the  banker.  "He  told  me 
to  be  sure  and  have  you  read  it  right  off",  sir,"  said  the 
boy. 

"All  right,"  said  Mr.  Heminway.  He  put  the  note 
on  his  desk.  "Tell  him  that  I  shall  be  at  liberty  in  a 
minute." 

"I  really  ought  to  be  going,"  said  Cutting,  "you 
are  very  busy." 

"Sit  down,"  said  the  lawyer.  "I  want  to  get  the 
hang  of  this  swing.  That  was  a  pretty  good  one,"  he 
said  after  a  pause.  "Did  I  do  anything  wrong.? " 


THE     MATTER     OF    A     MASHIE  I3I 

"No,"  said  Cutting  j  "only  you  came  back  too  fast, 
and  pumped  up  and  down  instead  of  taking  it  smooth- 
ly j  and  you  moved  your  head.  Keep  your  eyes  on  your 
shadow  as  if  it  were  the  golf-ball.  That's  better,"  he 
added. 

The  next  instant  there  was  a  heavy  chug,  and  the 
fourteen-ounce  mashie  bit  the  nap  off  a  patch  of  car- 
pet. 

There  was  a  commotion  in  the  anteroom,  but  Mr. 
Heminway  seemed  not  to  hear  it. 

"I  was  keeping  my  eyes  on  the  shadow  that  time," 
he  said. 

Cutting  laughed  sympathetically.  "I  know  it's  pret- 
ty hard.  You  have  to  remember  about  seven  differ- 
ent things  at  once.  It's  bad  for  the  carpet,  though.  You 
ought  to  have  a  door-mat.  A  door-mat  is  a  good  thing 
to  practise  on.  The  fiber  gives  very  much  the  same 
surface  as  turf." 

Mr.  Heminway  rang  his  bell  again.  "Joseph,"  he 
said,  "bring  the  door-mat  here.  Tell  Mr.  Lansing  to 
get  a  new  one  for  the  outer  office,  and  leave  this  one." 
The  boy  came  back  with  the  mat.  The  lawyer  kicked 
it  into  position,  and  began  again.  "This  is  better,"  he 
observed.  "I'll  keep  it  here  till  I  learn." 

"That's  the  only  way  to  do,"  said  Cutting.  "Go  in 
to  win.  If  you  practise  every  day  with  a  proper  club. 


132  THE     MATTER     OF    A     MASHIE 

you'll  get  the  hang  of  it  in  a  month  or  two.  But  you 
must  use  a  light  club." 

Mr.  Heminway  stopped.  "A  month  or  two?"  he 
asked. 

"Why,  yes,"  said  Cutting.  "For  a  large  and  rather 
stout  man,  you  are  very  active.  I've  no  doubt,  if  you 
give  your  mind  to  it,  you  can  show  pretty  decent  form 
in  a  couple  of  months.  You  ought  to  practise  with  your 
coat  off,  though  5  it  binds  you." 

The  lawyer's  mouth  became  grim,  but  he  took  off 
his  coat.  There  was  an  office  rule  against  shirt -sleeves. 

Here  the  office  boy  appeared  again,  and  the  great 
man  glared  at  him. 

"Mrs.  Carrington,"  said  Joseph.  "She  says  she's  got 
to  see  you  about  important  business,  and  she  can't  wait, 
and  she's  going  to  sail  for  Europe  to-morrow  morn- 
ing." 

"Tell  Mrs.  Carrington,"  said  Mr.  Heminway, 
"that  I  shall  see  her  as  soon  as  I  am  at  leisure." 

The  boy  withdrew  hastily. 

The  lawyer  took  his  stance  by  the  door  mat  again, 
and  began  to  swing. 

Cutting  now  settled  himself  in  a  chair,  and  lighted 
a  cigarette. 

"That's  better,"  he  said  presently,  "much  better. 
You're  getting  the  trick." 


THE     MATTER     OF    A     MASHIE  I33 

Mr.  Heminway  stopped  for  a  minute,  and  straight- 
ened up.  He  was  beginning  to  puff.  "I  think  I  begin 
to  see  how  that's  done,"  he  said.  "It's  simple  when  you 
get  the  knack  of  it.  Cutting,  come  down  and  stop  next 
Sunday  with  me  in  the  country,  and  we'll  go  over  the 
course.  I  sha'n't  be  able  to  give  you  much  of  a  game, 
but  there  are  some  fellows  down  there  who  canj  and  I 
want  you  to  show  me  how  to  get  over  that  quarry- 
hole." 

"I  should  like  to  very  much,"  said  Cutting.  He 
meant  this.  The  girl  who  was  going  to  be  Mrs.  Cut- 
ting was  stopping  at  the  other  Heminways',  who  had 
the  place  next. 

"The  last  time  I  played  that  quarry-hole,"  the 
lawyer  went  on,  "I  took  twenty-seven  for  it.  And  it's 
all  in  that  swing,"  he  muttered.  He  crossed  over  to 
the  rug,  and  went  to  work  again.  "Criticize  me  now," 
he  said.  "How's  this.^" 

Cutting  leaned  back  in  his  chair. 

"Oh,  you  must  carry  it  through  better,"  he  said. 
"Let  your  left  arm  take  it  right  out.  You're  cramped. 
You're  gripping  too  tightly.  Try  it  without  gripping 
with  your  right  hand  at  all.  You'll  get  the  idea  of  the 
finish.  That's  better.  Now  right  through  with  it!  Oh, 
Lord!"  he  gasped. 

There  was  a  crash  of  glass,  then  a  great  thump,  and 


134  THE     MATTER     OF    A     MASHIE 

a  hubbub  of  screams  and  masculine  exclamations.  The 
heavy  club  had  slipped  from  the  lawyer's  hand  and 
had  sailed  through  the  glass  door  into  the  middle  of 
the  waiting-room. 

The  great  lawyer  hurriedly  put  on  his  coat.  "I  sup- 
pose I'll  have  to  straighten  things  out  in  there,"  he 
observed.  "But  that  was  the  idea,  wasn't  it — right 
out ! "  There  was  a  twinkle  in  his  eye. 

He  opened  the  door.  In  a  circle  around  the  fourteen- 
ounce  mashie  stood  his  clients. 

"Oh,  just  a  moment,"  broke  in  Cutting.  "Can't  that 
Reed  case  go  over  the  term?  My  uncle  wanted  me  to 
ask  for  a  postponement." 

"Certainly,"  said  the  lawyer.  "Tell  the  managing 
clerk  to  sign  the  stipulation.  I'll  meet  you  Saturday  at 
the  three-ten  train."  Then  he  put  on  his  cross-ques- 
tioning expression.  "Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  he  said 
calmly,  "whom  have  I  the  honor  of  seeing  first?" 

Who  that  person  was  Cutting  never  knew,  because 
he  at  once  slipped  out  through  the  private  way,  and  got 
his  paper  signed.  Then  he  went  back  to  his  office, 
crossed  over  to  his  desk,  and  took  up  the  newspaper 
again.  There  were  the  scores  of  the  medal  play  at 
Shinnecock,  in  which  he  was  interested. 

Presently  Mr.  Bruce  happened  out  of  his  private 
room,  and  Mr.  Smith  coincidently  happened  out  of  his. 


THE     MATTER     OF     A     MASHIE  135 

"By  the  way,  Mr.  Cutting,"  said  Bruce,  amiably, 
"how  about  that  Reed  matter?" 

"It's  put  over  the  term,"  said  Cutting,  without 
looking  up.  "Here's  the  stipulation.  Hello! "  he  added, 
half  aloud,  "here's  Broadhead  winning  at  Newport, 
four  up  and  three  to  play.  That's  funny.  Did  you  see 
that,  Bruce?  He's  been  all  off  his  form,  too." 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Bruce. 

The  junior  partners  retired  with  the  stipulation, 
and  were  closeted  together  for  a  long  time.  It  puzzled 
them.  They  were  impressed,  and  to  each  other  they 
admitted  it. 

Finally  Mr.  Smith  rose  and  said  that  he  had  to  go. 
"Perhaps  we  have  made  a  mistake,"  he  observed. 
"There  must  be  something  to  this  boy.  He  got  this." 
He  waved  the  stipulation. 

"We  had  better  give  him  more  of  a  chance,"  said 
Bruce. 

And  they  did.  Gradually  they  began  to  comprehend 
him,  and  then  to  like  him. 

As  for  Cutting,  he  unbent  himself,  and  got  inter- 
ested in  his  work.  At  the  end  of  the  six  months  they 
spoke  well  of  him,  so  that  he  continued  on  in  the  firm; 
and  when  he  was  married  they  sent  him  a  very  beauti- 
ful etching  of  "The  Angelus." 


THE    MEDAL    OF    HONOR    STORY 


VI 
THE  MEDAL  OF  HONOR  STORY 

NATURE  had  made  Caswell  short,  swarthy,  high 
cheek-boned,  with  dark  hair  and  narrow  dark 
eyes,  and  for  ten  years  he  had  been  sitting  at 
the  feet  of  the  Priest  of  Lake  Wiwa,  dressing  as  the 
Japanese  dress,  leading  their  life,  and  thinking  as  far 
as  an  Occidental  may  their  thought.  In  these  ten  years 
the  inscrutable  expression  of  the  East  had  begun  to 
dawn  in  his  eyes.  His  cheek-bones  grew  more  prom- 
inent. His  nose  had  begun  to  flatten.  He  was  a  text  for 
those  who  hold  that  the  soul  makes  the  face.  He  could 
also  sit  upon  the  floor  with  his  feet  tucked  under  him 
for  indefinite  periods,  so  that  it  was  not  strange  that 
among  the  Japanese  he  often  passed  as  Nipon  Jin 
(Japanese  man). 

One  May  morning  he  was  in  the  Kin-Ka-Kuji,  sit- 
ting by  the  water  on  the  lower  balcony  of  the  temple, 
watching  the  ancient  carp  as  they  slowly  wove  and 
interwove  among  the  lily  stems,  waiting  to  be  fed.  He 
often  came  to  the  garden  in  May  because  the  tourists 
were  apt  not  to  be  there  then,  for  they  desert  Kioto 


140        THE     MEDAL     OF     HONOR    STORY 

when  the  summer  heat  has  begun,  and  it  was  his  habit 
to  come  early  in  the  day  because  the  beauty  of  the 
place  renews  itself  with  each  morning's  dew  and  the 
fragrance  of  the  new  flowers,  as  if  in  the  first  hours  of 
the  day  a  woman  should  be  a  girl  again. 

None  of  Caswell's  friends  knew  what  the  esoterism 
of  Biwa  was  or  was  notj  whether  the  venerable  one 
with  the  shriveled  monkey-like  face  had  a  sweeter 
communion  with  the  eternal  than  others,  or  was  a  de- 
ceiver, for  the  disciple  never  wrote  or  spoke  of  his  ex- 
perience, but  it  was  a  fact  that  he  had  acquired  the 
calmness  of  the  East  and  that  was  much,  for  he  had 
his  reasons  for  desiring  peace.  After  his  decade  of 
meditation  he  could  regard  the  hurryings  of  men,  the 
catching  of  trains,  and  the  yoke  of  small  annoyances 
to  which  society  bends  its  neck,  as  one  inside  watches 
the  buzzing  of  unclean  flies  against  the  pane  without. 

He  opened  a  book  of  verses  by  a  Japanese  poet  and 
gazed  across  the  little,  many-islanded  lake,  whose  sur- 
face was  a  sisterhood  of  silver  pools,  each  framed  in 
the  new  green  of  the  young  lotus  pads.  The  bamboos 
on  the  opposite  bank  glistened  faintly  as  the  intermit- 
tent touch  of  an  unfelt,  unsuspected  breeze  stroked 
their  plumes.  The  air  was  sweet  with  pine  and  the 
pungent  aroma  of  maples  in  new  foliage,  and  with  per- 
fumes from  unseen  gardens. 


THE     MEDAL     OF     HONOR     STORY         I4I 

To  Caswell  each  year  of  the  past  ten,  "More  weary 
seemed  the  sea,  weary  the  oar."  Of  late  the  decision 
had  been  ripening  to  shut  the  door  forever  upon  his 
old  world,  and  that  morning  a  divine  approval  of  his 
course  seemed  to  float  into  his  soul  upon  a  tide  of  peace. 
He  closed  his  eyes  for  a  time;  then  he  opened  them 
with  a  fresh  thirst  for  the  beauty  of  the  place.  Sud- 
denly he  started,  for  he  heard  a  voice.  It  was  a  wo- 
man's voice,  speaking  with  a  cultivated  New  England 
intonation,  but  literal  and  unsympathetic.  His  impulse 
was  to  flee. 

"The  temple  is  called  Kin-Ka-Kuji  or  Roku-onji," 
said  the  voice,  evidently  reading  from  a  guide-book, 
"from  Kin-Ka-Ku,  meaning  golden  pavilion.  In  thir- 
teen ninety-seven  Yoshimitsu  retired  from  the  shogun- 
ate — " 

"Auntie,"  interrupted  another  voice,  "sha'n't  we 
shut  the  guide-book?  The  garden  is  lovely  enough  as 
a  garden." 

This  was  a  woman's  voice,  too,  but  soft  and  young, 
with  low,  resonant  tones  that  brought  a  thrill  to  the 
senses  as  sometimes  comes  with  the  breath  of  a  re- 
membered perfume. 

Caswell  glanced  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye  and 
saw  a  party  of  tourists  filing  toward  the  temple  on  the 
path  along  the  border  of  the  lake.  At  the  head  marched 


142  THE     MEDAL     OF     HONOR    STORY 

a  gray-haired  woman  with  a  kind  but  somewhat  ag- 
gressive countenance.  She  carried  an  open  guide-book. 
At  her  heels  was  a  fat,  squat,  shaven-headed  Japanese 
boy,  the  guide.  Behind  him  there  was  a  girl.  He  had 
only  an  instant's  glimpse  of  her,  but  he  knew  that  it 
was  the  girl  that  had  spoken  j  lithe,  slender,  exquisite 
in  white.  He  looked  across  the  lake  again,  but  he 
looked  without  seeing.  The  garden  was  full  of  the 
sweetness  of  blue  eyes,  the  softness  of  fair  hair  and  the 
loveliness  of  a  girl's  smile. 

For  a  moment  it  was  as  if  the  priest  of  Biwa  had 
never  been.  His  pulses  throbbed,  a  choking  seized  his 
throat.  Then  the  habit  of  years  asserted  itself.  With  an 
effort  of  will  his  mind  grew  calm  and  the  vision  faded. 
Again  he  saw  the  lake,  the  bamboos  upon  the  op- 
posite shore,  the  carp  in  the  water  weeds  at  his  feet. 

"What  has  the  circumstance,  the  external,  to  do 
with  the  abiding  me,  the  eternal?"  he  murmured. 
Then  he  looked  again  from  the  corner  of  his  eye 
toward  the  tourists. 

She  had  stopped  and  was  standing  by  the  water's 
edge,  gazing  across  toward  the  other  shore.  He  saw 
her  mild,  wondering  eyes  animated  with  the  delight 
of  the  garden,  the  broad,  low  brow  above  them,  the 
lines  of  a  sweet,  firm  mouth  parted  in  a  smile,  the 
gleam  of  white  teeth,  and  then  behind  her,  what  he 


THE     MEDAL     OF     HONOR    STORY         143 

had  not  noticed  before,  a  great-framed  youth  with 
tow  hair  and  a  frank,  kindly  face  bronzed  with  a 
tropical  sun.  And  as  the  girl  gazed  across  the  little  lake 
the  youth  gazed  at  the  girl. 

Caswell  brought  his  eyes  back  to  his  book  of  verses. 
His  philosophy  suddenly  seemed  to  have  grown  more 
effective.  He  smiled  inwardly,  for  an  Occidental  sense 
of  humor  slumbered  in  the  ashes  of  his  old  self.  Then 
he  became  grave  again.  "Am  I  a  thistledown  upon  the 
breeze?"  he  muttered.  He  repeated  one  of  the  mental 
formulas  which  the  Buddhists  of  his  sect  used  to  com- 
pose the  mind  and  open  its  doors  to  the  all-pervasive 
soul. 

The  party  of  tourists  came  on  and  mounted  the 
balcony.  They  passed  him  before  they  noticed  him,  for 
he  was  in  the  corner  at  the  end.  The  girl  looked  at  the 
view  and  the  young  man  furtively  watched  the  girl, 
but  the  older  woman  spied  Caswell  sitting  on  the  floor 
with  his  feet  under  him,  an  open  book  in  his  lap,  gaz- 
ing stolidly  across  the  lake.  Her  curiosity  was  aroused. 

"Who  is  that.?"  she  said  to  the  fat  Japanese  boy. 

The  Japanese  boy  sucked  in  his  breath  and  bowed 
low. 

"Yais,  sank  you,"  he  said  laboriously;  "he  is,  what 
you  say,  temple  man." 

"Do  you  mean  a  priest?"  asked  his  interrogator. 


144       THE     MEDAL     OF     HONOR    STORY 

"Sank  you,  ah,  no,  not  priest,"  sucking  his  breath 
again.  "I  sink  perhaps  priest,  some  day." 

"Be  careful,  Auntie,"  suggested  the  girl,  in  a  low 
tone.  "You  know  so  many  of  them  speak  English." 

"I  haven't  said  anything  to  hurt  his  feelings,"  she 
answered.  "It's  no  disgrace  to  be  a  priest,  for  they  are 
not  exactly  like  other  heathens.  Ask  him,"  she  added 
to  the  boy,  "if  he  speaks  English." 

The  boy  had  often  seen  Caswell,  but  he  did  not 
know  what  he  was  or  whence,  except  that  he  was  a 
friend  of  one  of  the  priests.  He  put  the  question.  Cas- 
well muttered  something  in  Japanese  without  looking 
up. 

"He  say  he  spek  no  English." 

"There,"  said  the  aunt,  "I  knew  he  couldn't  un- 
derstand." 

^'You  speak  very  well,"  said  the  girl  to  the  Japan- 
ese boy. 

The  fat  boy  doubled  over  in  a  bow,  sucked  his 
breath,  and  beamed.  "Ah,  no!  Sank  you,"  he  said, 
"sank  you  ver'  much." 

"Ah,  yes,"  said  the  girl,  smilingly.  "Where  did  you 
learn.?" 

"At  Kioto  mission  school,"  he  responded. 

"So  you  are  going  to  be  a  missionary,"  said  the  aunt. 
"How  interesting!  You  are  a  good  boy." 


THE     MEDAL     OF     HONOR     STORY         I45 

"Sank  you,"  said  the  boy,  "yais,  I  am  temple  man 
boy;  some  day,  perhaps,  priest." 

"Buddhist  priest?"  repeated  the  aunt  in  surprise. 

The  boy  sucked  his  breath  and  bowed. 

The  young  man  laughed  quietly. 

"I  think  this  is  rather  extraordinary,"  said  the 
aunt. 

"It  is  rather  the  rule,"  said  the  young  man.  "The 
Japanese  appreciate  our  missionary  efforts,  only  they 
use  them  in  their  own  way.  It  is  useful  to  have  a  tem- 
ple boy  who  speaks  a  little  English." 

"Well,"  said  the  aunt,  "it  ought  to  be  reported  or 
something.  I  don't  sec  why  the  people  of  America 
should  pay  for  educating  Buddhist  priests." 

"Neither  do  the  Japanese,"  replied  the  young  man, 
"only  they  accept  what  they  regard  as  our  eccentrici- 
ties without  raising  questions." 

"The  young  man  seems  to  be  intelligent,"  thought 
Caswell. 

The  aunt  made  no  reply,  but  stood  meditating  for  a 
few  moments.  Then  she  opened  the  guide-book,  in 
which  she  had  her  finger  at  the  place. 

"In  the  second  story,  there  are  paintings  by  Kano 
Masanobi.  At  the  top  is  the  golden  pavilion.  We  can 
give  it  half  an  hour.  Take  off  your  shoes,"  she  added; 
"we  mustn't  waste  time." 


146       THE     MEDAL     OF     HONOR    STORY 

She  leaned  against  the  rail  and  extended  a  foot  so 
that  the  Japanese  boy  could  remove  the  shoe. 

The  young  man  began  unlacing  his  shoes,  but  Cas- 
well noticed  that  the  girl  stood  leaning  on  the  rail. 
Presently  she  turned  to  her  aunt. 

"I  think  I'll  not  go  in/'  she  said. 

The  young  man  stopped  unlacing  his  shoes,  and 
Caswell  saw  that  the  girl  noticed  it. 

"But,  my  dear  child,"  said  her  aunt,  "what  an  ex- 
traordinary idea!  You  must!" 

"No,"  she  said,  gently  but  firmly;  "if  you  will  let 
me,  I  think  I  should  rather  wait  here.  You  take  Mr. 
Williams  and  show  him  the  pictures  and  explain  them 
to  him." 

"But,"  said  her  aunt,  "I  didn't  bring  you  to  Japan 
to  sit  on  a  dock  and  look  at  the  water.  You  could  do 
that  at  home." 

"Please  don't  insist,"  said  the  girl,  appealingly. 

"But  I  must  insist,"  said  her  aunt.  "It's  for  your 
own  good." 

"But  you  see  you  don't  understand,"  said  the  girl,, 
dropping  her  voice  despairingly. 

Her  aunt  approached  her.  "Are  you  ill? "  she  asked. 
"Is  anything  the  matter? " 

The  girl  put  her  arms  about  her  aunt's  neck  and 
whispered  something  in  her  ear. 


THE     MEDAL     OF     HONOR     STORY         I47 

Only  one  word  reached  Caswell,  though  they  were 
close  to  him.  It  was  the  word  "stocking." 

The  aunt's  face  immediately  grew  severe.  The  girl 
blushed  and  looked  down. 

Caswell  almost  laughed.  He  understood.  At  least  he 
thought  he  understood.  This  exquisite  creature  had  a 
hole  in  her  stocking. 

But  the  big  youth  remained  immovable,  like  a 
crouching  statue  with  a  shoe-lacing  in  his  fingers. 

"It  was  thoughtless  of  you  not  to  have  taken  care — " 

"Please!"  said  the  girl,  and  she  put  her  hand  over 
her  aunt's  mouth. 

"Well,  it's  your  own  loss,"  said  the  aunt.  "I  shall 
write  your  mother  about  it.  Come,  Mr.  Williams,"  she 
added,  "we  have  no  time  to  waste.  You  know  these 
paintings  are  by  the  old  masters  of  Japan." 

The  young  man  hesitated.  "I  don't  think  it  is  civil 
to  leave  you,"  he  said,  clumsily,  to  the  girl. 

"It's  her  own  fault,"  said  the  aunt.  "You  mustn't 
be  sorry  for  her." 

"She  is  quite  right,"  said  the  girl,  calmly.  "You 
must  go  in  and  see  the  pictures." 

The  aunt  went  in  and  the  young  man  followed 
without  a  word.  He  was  embarrassed. 

The  girl  turned  to  the  rail  again,  and  leaning  on  it 
gazed  down  into  the  water  at  the  carp.  She  seemed 


148        THE     MEDAL     OF     HONOR     STORY 

contented  to  be  alone,  and  to  have  the  young  man  with 
her  aunt.  It  surprised  Caswell. 

A  few  feet  away  he  was  sitting  on  the  floor,  with  his 
eyes  seemingly  on  the  book  on  his  lap.  But  the  page  was 
a  blank.  He  was  stealthily  watching  the  movements  of 
the  girl.  She  had  come  like  a  message  from  a  far  coun- 
try— a  country,  after  all,  his  own — and  to  him  the 
message  was  what  the  first  smell  of  the  June  clover 
fields  is  to  the  city  man  when  he  goes  back  to  the  farm 
of  his  boyhood. 

How  long  he  sat  in  this  way,  Caswell  could  not 
have  told,  but  suddenly  he  heard  a  muffled  step  on  the 
balcony,  and  he  knew  that  the  youth  was  coming  back. 
He  knew,  too,  that  the  girl  also  had  heard  the  step,  for 
he  saw  the  color  deepen  in  the  side  of  her  cheek  and 
throat  and  in  her  little  ear.  But  she  made  no  move. 

"Simple  one  that  I  am,"  he  said  to  himself.  "She 
knew  that  he  would  come." 

The  youth  made  a  noise  as  he  took  his  shoes,  and  the 
girl  turned. 

"Where  is  auntie?"  she  asked. 

"I  left  her,"  said  the  youth,  coloring.  "I  should 
rather  be  here." 

"It  is  too  bad  that  you  are  missing  the  pictures,"  she 
said. 

He  shook  his  head. 


THE     MEDAL     OF     HONOR     STORY         I49 

"Haven't  you  some  biscuits  to  feed  to  the  fish? "  she 
asked. 

"Yes,  the  fat  boy  provided  us."  He  felt  in  his  pocket 
and  handed  her  several  wafers  of  rice  flour. 

She  broke  one  of  them  and  let  the  crumbs  fall. 
"They  say  these  fish  are  very  old,"  she  observed; 
"hundreds  of  years,  and  they  come  regularly  to  the 
balcony  to  be  fed.  Think  of  all  the  interesting  people 
who  have  thrown  crumbs  to  them!" 

"Can  you  think  of  any  one  as  interesting  as  you?" 
he  said,  half  playfully. 

She  made  no  answer,  but  continued  feeding  the 
carp.  "That  biggest  one,"  she  observed,  "looks  very 
wise.  I  wonder  if  he  remembers  what  the  Shoguns 
gave  him." 

"Probably  all  crumbs  are  very  much  alike  to  him," 
said  the  youth. 

He  finished  putting  on  his  shoes  and  joined  her  by 
the  rail. 

"We  ought  to  take  a  walk  about,"  he  suggested, 
after  a  pause.  "There  are  a  number  of  things  to  see — 
the  Shogun's  well,  the  Shogun's  island,  and  the  hill  in 
the  distance,  the  silk  hat  mountain  which  he  used  to 
have  covered  with  white  silk  on  hot  July  days  so  that 
it  would  look  like  snow." 

"The  mountain  is  outside  the  garden,"  said  the  girl. 


150        THE     MEDAL     OF     HONOR     STORY 

"It  would  be  too  far  to  go  to  it.  Anyway,"  she  added, 
"I  don't  think  I  had  better  leave  the  balcony.  You  see, 
auntie  might  come  down.  Where  are  you  going,  after 
you  leave  Kioto?"  she  asked,  presently. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  answered.  "There  are  two 
friends  of  mine  in  my  regiment  coming  up  to  get  rid 
of  the  fever.  I  may  join  them  and  go  into  the  moun- 
tains. But  I'm  so  well  now  that  I  really  have  no  excuse 
to  stay  here  much  longer." 

"I  should  think  that  it  would  be  nice  to  spend  a 
summer  in  Japan  with  brother  officers  whom  you 
knew  well,"  she  observed. 

"Do  you?"  he  said. 

"Yes,"  she  replied.  "Wasn't  it  odd,"  she  continued, 
after  a  pause,  "that  we  should  meet  you  out  here  when 
we  hadn't  seen  you  for  a  year  and  a  half,  and  then  on 
the  other  side  of  the  world? " 

"Yes,  it  was  odd,"  he  said,  but  he  smiled  a  little  as 
if  to  hint  that  it  was  not  so  very  odd,  if  one  knew  the 
inside  facts. 

"Of  course,  we  had  heard  how  you  had  been 
wounded,"  she  went  on,  slowly,  "but  we  thought  you 
were  still  in  the  Philippines." 

"I  heard  in  a  letter  from  home,"  he  said,  "that  you 
expected  to  come  to  Japan,  but  I  didn't  know  where 
you  were  to  be." 


THE     MEDAL     OF     HONOR     STORY         I5I 

She  looked  down  at  the  carp  again  and  crumbled 
another  biscuit  for  them.  "You  promised  last  night," 
she  said,  "to  tell  me  how  you  won  the  Medal  of  Honor. 
Will  you  tell  me  now?" 

Caswell  started  in  spite  of  himself  and  looked  at 
the  youth  with  surprise.  "Williams!"  he  said  to  him- 
self. "That  is  so;  it  was  a  Lieutenant  Victor  Wil- 
liams." He  knew  the  story.  Every  newspaper  on  the 
coast  of  Asia  had  printed  it.  "It  is  strange,"  he  thought. 
"He  is  only  a  boy." 

Under  the  guise  of  looking  into  the  water,  he  bent 
forward  intently  to  listen.  He  was  curious  to  hear  that 
extraordinary  narrative  from  the  young  man's  own 
lips. 

"It  doesn't  make  much  of  a  story,"  Williams  re- 
plied. "The  first  thing  we  knew,  a  lot  of  hombres  got 
around  us  and  cooped  us  up  in  a  stone  church.  Brad- 
shaw,  my  captain,  was  knocked  over  in  the  first  firing." 

"Killed.?  "she  asked. 

"Yes! "  he  said.  "After  that — "  He  stopped  because 
they  heard  her  aunt  calling  his  name  from  the  bal- 
cony overhead. 

"Yes!"  he  answered.  "What  is  it?" 

"I  wondered  where  you  had  gone,"  she  called  down. 
"I  just  missed  you." 

"He's  telling  me  a  story,"  said  the  girl,  looking  up. 


152        THE     MEDAL     OF     HONOR    STORY 

"He  ought  to  be  seeing  these  things  of  Kano  Masan- 
obi,"  her  aunt  replied. 

"You  are  awfully  good  to  worry  about  me,"  he  said. 
"My  mind  isn't  worth  it." 

She  made  no  reply  and  went  back  into  the  temple. 

"Please  go  on,"  said  the  girl. 

"Where  was  I?"  he  said.  "Oh,  yes,  Bradshaw  was 
hit  and  we  were  in  the  church,  and  that  is  about  all 
there  was  to  it.  We  had  to  stay  there  till  we  were  re- 
lieved." 

"But  you  were  wounded,"  she  said. 

"Yes!"  he  answered.  "It  came  near  being  serious, 
but  it  really  was  funny." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  asked. 

"You  remember,"  he  said,  "the  last  summer  that  I 
was  home?" 

"Yes." 

"Do  you  remember  that  I  took  some  snapshots  of  a 
lot  of  you  in  the  sailboat?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered.  "It  was  the  day  when  you 
climbed  part  way  up  the  mast  and  took  us  in  the  cock- 
pit. You  never  sent  me  any  of  the  prints." 

"Is  that  so?"  he  said.  "Well,  you  see  most  of  them 
turned  out  badly,  but  there  was  one  that  I  found  in 
my  kit  when  I  got  out  to  the  Islands,  and  sometimes  I 
used  to  carry  it  about  in  a  card-case."  (He  put  his  hand 


THE     MEDAL     OF     HONOR     STORY         153 

where  the  left  breast-pocket  would  have  been  in  a 
khaki  blouse.)  "In  fact,  I  rather  got  into  the  habit  of 
carrying  it,  as  one  gets  into  the  habit  of  carrying  a 
bunch  of  keys  that  don't  unlock  anything,  or  a  pocket 
piece.  Besides,  when  it  was  hot  up-country,  it  was  re- 
freshing to  have  a  look  at  the  cool  lake  and  all  you 
people  in  the  boat.  Well,  when  I  was  hit  the  bullet 
came  through  the  left  breast-pocket." 

"And  went  through  the  picture?"  she  said. 

"That  was  the  funny  part  of  it,"  he  answered. 
"When  we  started  on  this  particular  hike — " 

"What's  that?"  she  asked. 

"They  call  any  expedition  or  march  a  hike." 

"Go  on,"  she  said. 

"Well,  when  we  started  I  took  a  blouse  along,  al- 
though one  generally  hikes  in  a  blue  shirt  like  the 
men."  He  paused  and  she  looked  at  him  inquiringly. 
"But  you  see,"  he  went  on,  "I  wore  a  soiled  blouse 
and  carelessly  left  the  card-case  at  my  quarters  in  a 
clean  one." 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  perplexed  expression. 
"Then  the  bullet  didn't  go  through  the  picture?"  she 
said. 

"No,  that  was  the  joke  on  the  bullet.  Instead  of 
having  the  picture  in  my  pocket  what  do  you  suppose 
I  did  have?" 


154        THE     MEDAL     OF     HONOR    STORY 

She  thought  for  a  moment.  "A  locket,"  she  sug- 
gested, "or  a  prayer-book." 

"No,"  he  said,  smiling,  "a  tooth-brush.  The  bone 
handle  made  the  bullet  glance  so  that  instead  of  going 
through,  it  went  around  and  did  nothing  worse  than 
scrape  a  few  ribs." 

She  looked  at  him  wonderingly  for  a  moment  and 
then  dropped  her  eyes. 

"Would  you  like  to  see  it?"  he  asked. 

"The  tooth-brush,"  she  queried,  "or  the  bullet?" 

"No,  the  picture,"  he  said,  laughing. 

"Yes,"  she  answered. 

He  fumbled  in  his  breast-pocket  and  brought  out  a 
worn  leather  card-case.  He  opened  it  and  produced  an 
envelope.  From  the  envelope  he  took  a  small,  un- 
mounted photograph  and  handed  it  to  the  girl. 

She  studied  it  in  silence  and  a  smile  broke  over  her 
face.  "Isn't  it  funny  of  Agnes?"  she  asked.  "She 
doesn't  seem  to  have  any  nose." 

"That's  so,"  he  said.  "Do  you  make  out  Ann,  next 
to  George  in  the  stern  sheets?" 

They  leaned  on  the  rail  and  bent  over  the  faded 
print  till  their  heads  almost  touched. 

"That's  Bess  next  to  me  in  the  sweater,"  she  went 
on,  "and  there's  Winkle." 

"Do  you  remember,"  he  said,  "the  boom  knocked 


THE     MEDAL     OF     HONOR     STORY         155 

him  overboard  just  before  and  he  would  shake  himself 
on  your  skirt?" 

"Dear  little  dog!"  she  murmured.  "I  don't  think 
my  head  came  out  very  well,"  she  observed,  after  a 
pause.  "Something  must  have  been  the  matter  with  the 
film  or  the  paper.  There's  a  smudged  spot  all  over  it." 

"The  climate  is  very  damp  in  the  Islands,"  he  said. 
"Give  it  back  to  me." 

Their  eyes  met  as  she  handed  the  picture  back  and 
she  dropped  hers.  Caswell  saw  the  color  stealing  into 
the  side  of  her  face  again. 

She  moved  a  step  away  and  gazed  down  into  the 
water.  "That  big  carp  is  getting  all  the  crumbs,"  she 
said. 

He  handed  her  another  wafer  and  replaced  the  pic- 
ture in  his  pocket. 

There  was  a  long  silence.  The  girl  spoke  first. 

"But  what  did  they  give  you  the  Medal  of  Honor 
for.f* "  she  said,  slowly  dropping  crumbs  to  the  fish. 

"That  is  a  question  that  has  puzzled  me  before," 
he  answered. 

"But  you  must  have  done  something,"  she  said. 

"Well,  there  wasn't  anything  to  eat  or  drink  in  the 
church,"  he  began,  "nor  anything  in  the  neighborhood 
as  far  as  we  knew,  except  cocoanuts,  and  I  was  afraid 
to  go  out  to  get  them — " 


156        THE     MEDAL     OF     HONOR     STORY 

He  Stopped,  for  her  aunt's  voice  was  calling  again 
from  above.  They  looked  up  and  saw  her  on  the 
balcony  of  the  third  story. 

"Mr.  Williams,"  she  said,  "you  must  come  up  and 
see  the  gold  room." 

"Please,  no,"  he  answered 5  "I've  put  on  my  shoes." 

"Yes,  you  must,"  she  insisted.  "I  sha'n't  come  down 
until  you  do." 

"You  had  better  go,"  said  the  girl.  "She  means  what 
she  says." 

"I'll  be  up  at  once,"  he  called.  He  took  off  his  shoes 
and  went  in. 

The  girl  finished  crumbling  the  wafer  to  the  carp, 
and  watched  them  for  a  time  as  their  grotesque  mouths 
mechanically  opened  and  shut  upon  the  sinking  flakes. 
Then  she  turned  her  eyes  across  the  lake  and  embraced 
the  prospect  which  Caswell  had  been  absorbing  when 
interrupted  by  her  coming.  Presently  an  idea  moved 
her,  and  from  a  little  bag  she  produced  a  gold  pencil 
and  a  bit  of  paper  and  found  a  smooth  place  upon  the 
rail.  She  wrote  a  few  words,  took  a  pin  from  her  dress 
and  fastened  the  paper  to  a  post  as  if  for  a  sign  to  per- 
sons coming  out  of  the  temple.  She  glanced  quickly 
up,  and  seeing  no  one,  slipped  away  around  the  end  of 
the  balcony. 

When  she  was  out  of  sight,  Caswell's  eyes  went  back 


THE     MEDAL     OF     HONOR     STORY         1 57 

to  his  book  of  verses,  but  they  carried  no  impressions 
from  the  page  to  his  brain.  The  thoughts  which  had 
been  aroused  were  insistent.  They  possessed  him  and 
he  sat  and  battled  with  them.  He  was  distracted  from 
his  reverie  by  the  fluttering  of  the  paper  on  the  pin.  A 
warm  breeze  had  awakened  and  came  in  mimic  gales 
which  rippled  the  pools  and  set  the  bamboos  on  the 
farther  bank  in  a  silver  shimmer.  After  the  pin  had 
resisted  several  onslaughts,  a  stronger  air  loosed  it  and 
sent  the  paper  fluttering  into  the  water. 

Almost  before  it  fell  Caswell  was  on  his  feet.  Then 
he  checked  himself.  "It  is  not  my  business,"  he 
thought.  "Shall  I  interfere  with  the  course  of  Fate?" 
He  sat  down.  Then  he  rose  again.  "But  perhaps  I  am 
the  minister  of  Fate."  He  leaned  over  the  rail.  The 
paper  was  slowly  sinking,  but  he  read  under  the  clear 
water,  "I  am  going  to  walk.  Do  you  want  to  come?" 

The  young  man's  stick  was  lying  on  the  balcony. 
He  took  it  and  leaning  over  the  rail  fished  up  the  v/et 
paper.  As  he  put  his  hand  upon  it,  he  heard  a  footfall, 
and  turning  saw  the  big  lieutenant  coming  out  of  the 
temple.  He  had  turned  in  time  to  catch  the  youth's 
expression,  as  he  perceived  that  the  girl  was  not  there. 

"Oh!"  said  the  youth,  awkwardly.  He  saw  that 
something  had  happened. 

Caswell  bowed  in  the  Japanese  manner,  sucking  his 


158         THE     MEDAL     OF     HONOR     STORY 

breath  as  if  to  a  superior,  and  extended  the  dripping 
paper  with  the  inscrutable  countenance  which  the 
East  had  taught  him. 

The  youth  read  it  at  a  glance.  "Thank  you!  Thank 
you,  very  much!"  he  said,  impulsively;  then  remem- 
bering himself,  he  repeated  his  thanks  in  Japanese: 
^^Arigato!  Arigato!  I  understand,"  he  said,  in  answer 
to  Caswell's  gesture  toward  the  water.  "The  wind 
blew  it  in.  You  were  very  good."  He  repeated  the 
Japanese  word  again  and  bowed,  and  Caswell,  bowing 
solemnly,  backed  off  the  balcony  and  left  him. 

"It  was  best  so,"  he  thought,  when  he  was  on  the 
path  by  the  edge  of  the  water. 

He  had  come  to  the  priest's  apartments,  the  little 
palace  where  the  great  Shogun  had  lived  in  his  retire- 
ment, before  he  was  conscious  whither  his  steps  were 
taking  him.  His  thoughts  were  across  eight  thousand 
miles  of  sea.  He  looked  around  him  with  a  start. 
"Shall  I  go  in? "  he  said  to  himself.  One  of  the  priests, 
although  of  a  different  sect,  was  his  friend.  On  the 
porch,  a  temple  student  saluted  him.  He  was  known 
because  he  often  came,  not  only  to  talk  with  his  friend, 
but  to  study  the  screens  of  Kano  Tan  Yu  and  Jakuchu, 
and  the  marvelous  folding  screens  painted  by  Korin 
and  Soami,  and  the  kakemonos  by  those  other  ancient 
masters,  Cho  Densi  and  Shubun  and  Eishin. 


THE     MEDAL     OF     HONOR    STORY         159 

He  took  the  student's  welcome  as  an  omen  and 
slipped  off  his  sandals.  He  was  ushered  in  and,  after 
saluting  his  friend,  the  temple  tea  was  brought  and 
they  sat  with  it  between  them  and  discoursed.  The 
temple  tea  was  not  as  other  tea,  but  superior.  It  was  a 
powder  made  of  the  tenderest  of  the  young  leaves  of 
certain  choice  plants.  It  possessed  the  secret  flavors  of 
spring,  and  the  property  of  making  the  mind  glow  and 
the  brain  crystal  clear  without  racking  the  nerves. 

They  talked  for  a  time,  but  to  Caswell  it  was  with 
an  effort.  His  soul  that  day  had  no  meeting  with  his 
friend,  and  the  priest  was  aware  of  it.  He  produced  to- 
bacco and  they  lit  the  little  pipes  and,  inhaling  a  few 
whiffs,  sat  in  silence. 

Presently  Caswell  turned  his  head  to  listen. 
Through  the  paper  screen  which  made  the  partition 
wall,  he  heard  the  girl's  voice;  then  the  voice  of  her 
aunt.  They  were  entering  the  room  next. 

"It  is  a  party  of  foreigners,"  observed  the  priest. 
"They  have  doubtless  been  generous  to  the  boy. 
Liberal  foreigners  are  sometimes  invited  to  partake  of 
the  temple  tea.  The  tea  money  {chadat)  goes  to  the 
restoration  fund." 

"Is  it  so?"  said  Caswell.  He  was  listening. 

"I  am  afraid  that  I  never  could  get  used  to  sitting 
on  my  feet,"  said  her  aunt. 


l6o       THE     MEDAL     OF     HONOR    STORY 

"Poor  auntie!"  said  the  girl,  and  then  she  laughed, 
and  as  she  laughed  Caswell  held  his  breath.  It  was  a 
low,  sweet,  bubbling  laugh  j  the  laughter  that  is  com- 
pelled by  happiness  in  the  heart,  just  as  a  fountain 
bubbles  under  a  pressure  of  crystal  water. 

A  moment  later  came  the  deeper  tones  of  a  man's 
voice,  also  laughing,  and  the  echo  of  the  same  hap- 
piness was  in  them. 

Caswell  smiled  and  a  mist  came  into  his  eyes.  He 
understood.  He  looked  at  the  old  priest,  and  he  too  was 
smiling. 

"The  young  foreign  lady  has  an  agreeable  voice," 
observed  the  priest.  "Unlike  most." 

"Unlike  most  who  travel  here,"  said  Caswell,  "she 
is  of  an  honorable  family." 

"Friends,  no  doubt,  of  your  honorable  family,"  sug- 
gested the  priest. 

"No,"  said  Caswell.  He  realized  that  he  did  not 
even  know  her  name.  "But  I  know,"  he  continued. 
"One  may  know  by  the  voice  and  the  speech." 

"Assuredly,  with  us,"  said  the  priest,  "but  I  had 
thought  that  all  families  in  America  were  equal." 

"Yes  and  no,"  replied  Caswell,  absently.  He  had  no 
mind  for  explaining  the  American  system  then.  He 
was  listening,  for  they  were  laughing  again,  although 
there  seemed  no  reason  for  it  in  the  conversation. 


THE     MEDAL     OF     HONOR    STORY         l6l 

Presently  Caswell  rose  and  began  his  leave-taking, 
and  the  priest  accompanied  him  to  the  porch  where 
he  had  left  his  sandals.  Beside  the  sandals  they  saw 
three  pairs  of  shoes. 

There  was  a  pair  of  heavy  men's  walking  shoes,  a 
pair  of  woman's  shoes  of  the  type  known  as  "common- 
sense,"  and  a  third  pair  on  which  Caswell's  eyes  rested. 
These  were  little  Russia  leather  things,  not  new  but 
with  the  workmanship  and  fine  lines  of  the  Oxford 
Street  bootmaker,  and  they  had  the  air  of  well-being 
which  comes  from  proper  trees  and  the  care  of  an 
expert  maid. 

"It  is  a  curious  custom  of  the  foreigners  to  make 
shoes  out  of  leather,"  observed  the  priest. 

"It  is,  is  it  not?"  said  Caswell,  but  absently,  for 
through  the  half-open  wall  panel  he  saw  the  party 
seated  on  the  matting  around  the  fire-pot  which  the 
fat  temple  boy  had  just  deposited.  The  young  man  and 
the  girl  were  sitting  next  one  another.  The  aunt  was 
examining  a  screen.  Their  backs  were  turned  to  him, 
so  that  Caswell  could  look  without  being  seen.  Sud- 
denly, as  he  gazed  at  the  little  shoes,  an  idea  came  to 
him  and  he  smiled. 

The  fat  boy  was  coming  out  on  his  way  for  the  tea 
and  cakes,  and  as  he  passed  Caswell  stopped  him. 

The  boy  bowed  ceremoniously. 


l62        THE     MEDAL     OF     HONOR     STORY 

"Did  you  remove  the  shoes  of  the  honorable  young 
foreign  lady?"  he  inquired. 

The  boy  bowed  again  and  replied  that  he  had  in- 
deed been  so  honored. 

"In  the  foot  of  the  stocking  of  the  young  foreign 
lady,"  inquired  Caswell,  "was  there  not  a  hole?" 

"Not  the  least  hole,"  replied  the  fat  boy,  wonder- 
ingly. 

"No  hole?  Are  you  sure?"  said  Caswell. 

"None,"  said  the  boy. 

"Thank  you,  that  is  all,"  said  Caswell,  gravely.  He 
looked  at  the  little  shoes  again.  "Simple  one  that  I 
am,"  he  murmured. 

"Is  it  true,"  inquired  the  priest,  "that  foreign  wom- 
en wear  stockings  above  their  ankles  and  of  colored 
fabrics?" 

Caswell  made  no  reply  for  a  moment.  The  girl  was 
speaking. 

"But  you  never  told  me  what  you  did  to  win  your 
medal,"  she  said. 

"It  is  true,"  said  Caswell,  in  reply  to  the  priest's 
question. 

"But  I  should  like  to  know,"  said  the  girl. 

"I  finally  got  up  the  courage  to  go  out  after  the 
cocoanuts,"  said  the  youth,  "after  I  was  good  and 
hungry." 


THE     MEDAL     OF     HONOR     STORY         163 

"But  what  else?"  said  the  girl. 

"But  that  was  all — on  my  word,"  said  the  youth, 
and  they  fell  to  laughing  again. 

"It  is  a  curious  custom,"  observed  the  priest,  refer- 
ring to  the  stockings. 

"It  is,"  said  Caswell,  politely,  "is  it  not?  And  now 
I  must  depart,"  he  added. 

He  bowed  his  farewell.  ^^Sayonara!"  he  said,  ^^Sayo- 

^^Sayonara!^^  said  the  priest,  bowing.  "You  will 
come  soon  again?" 

Caswell  straightened  up.  "I  forgot  to  tell,"  he  said. 
"I  shall  not  return  soon.  I  am  going  to  my  own  coun- 
try." 

"Indeed,  is  it  so?  Is  it  so?"  said  the  priest,  gently. 
He  bowed  again  and  wished  him  the  good  wishes 
suitable  to  such  a  parting. 

^^SayonaraP'^  said  Caswell.  Then  he  walked  toward 
the  wicket  gate  that  led  out  of  the  garden. 

"He  got  up  the  courage  to  go  out  after  the  cocoa- 
nuts,"  he  murmured,  as  he  walked  away.  He  quick- 
ened his  steps,  but  once  he  turned  and  looked  back,  for 
he  heard  their  low,  rippling  laughter  again. 


SEVEN  HUNDRED  AND  FIFTY  SETS  OF 
THE  HITCHCOCK  EDITION  OF  THE 
SPORTING  WORKS  OF  DAVID  GRAY 
HAVE  BEEN  PRINTED  BY  EUGENE  V. 
CONNETT  AT  THE  DERRYDALE  PRESS. 
THIS     IS     VOLUME     III     OF     SET     NUMBER 


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